


Waiting for You

by Cena316AA



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Steve is best Steve, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Waiter AU, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cena316AA/pseuds/Cena316AA
Summary: Steve, a college student, is a waiter in a small diner. People come and go, and he doesn't bother with them. But, when a mysterious yet familiar-looking man comes in one late night and gets seated in his section, Steve can't help but feel that something's about to change.





	1. Chimes

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my best bud, Rose, for helping me come up with this idea (although our conversation kinda went like the one Tony and Steve have in chapter 3). Dedicated to you, bud. 
> 
> I always wanted to do a fanfic like this, so I hope you all enjoy. I welcome any advice. Thank you!

The familiar chimes alerted them that a customer had entered their quaint, warm diner. It had been a pretty slow day today, nevertheless, the crew scuffled about until they reached their positions. The cooks strayed by the stoves, their ingredients ready, their tools aimed to begin whatever task was bestowed upon them. The greeter rushed over to his post offering a gentle smile to the old couple that activated the alarm. 

“Good evening,” the greeter offered. “And how are we today?”

Their muffled replies were lost on the waiters. They were not focusing on the words but on the destination. Which section would this elderly couple be lead to?

There were a few problems with older customers. One, they asked many questions about the menu. Two, they tend to be incredibly picky when it comes to food. And, three, you had to be extremely gentle with them no matter what. However, all these vices didn’t compare to the one good thing about elders: they always left a tip.

Although there were only three waiters, a female with dark hair who held superiority over the other two, an overly excited brown-haired man who wrote songs during his break, and the third was the newer addition to the diner a man with blonde hair neatly hidden under his blue cap (almost as blue as his eyes) whose maturity level often left customers perplexed as to how old this young looking man truly was. As the newer recruit, Steve prefered to keep to himself and rarely interacted with the others. If he wasn’t working on his college papers, he’d be reading a book, so the others left him alone as well. He came in, got his work done, and left. The markings of a true soldier. 

“They look rich, too.” 

Steve realized that his two co-waiters had been having a discussion as his mind had wandered off. He turned to the elderly couple who were now being lead to their seats and finally started looking at them. Quill was right. The woman was decorated in shining jewelry, and the man used a cane embroidered with the letter “S” in what appeared to be diamonds. 

“What would rich people be doing in a dinky diner like this?”

“Who cares?” Quill replied, “I just hope I get that big tip.”

Steve heard Nat scoff at him. Nat. He didn’t know if that was short for Natalie or Natalya or . . .

“YES!” 

In his excitement Quill had elbowed Steve in his ribcage. 

“Oh, sorry, buddy.” Then he began to make his way to the table where the elder couple was beginning to sit down. “I’m getting that paper tonight.”

“Dammit. Maybe next time, right Steve?”

Steve was rubbing the now sore spot Quill had left behind. “Hm? Sure.”

He didn’t really care for the tip. He just wanted to finish his shift in order to study for his upcoming midterm. 

“Oh? Another one,” Nat said as another chime echoed through the night. 

This time, there were two men dressed in pristine, dark tuxedos. They seemed as if they had just finished a long day at work. A recurring tapping sound echoed through the diner, and Steve realized that one of the men was blind. He hadn’t noticed it right away because the man’s stride appeared so natural as if his sight were just a farce. If it weren't for the white stick, Steve wouldn't have realized this at all. 

_He might have better vision than me_ , Steve thought.

Since they were seated in Nat’s area, he was left alone as his two co-waiters answered questions and offered their specials. He looked around the diner. It looked deserted. He looked at the ticking clock mounted across from him. Then, to the watch on his wrist. 10:48. “What’s the point of having three waiters? Nobody comes in this late at night,” he said to himself.

He was beginning to doze off when another chime erupted through the nearly empty diner. He didn’t bother looking up. He was too tired.

“Steve? Steve!”

“Huh?” 

The greeter was gesturing to him. He was ushering him on. With a small groan, Steve rose from his seat. “Back to work.” He adjusted his hat before making his way through the maze of tables and chairs, notepad and pen in hand, and stopped in front of his customer. “Good evening, sir, how are you today?”

“Fine,” the man grumbled. “You?”

“Good. Thank you for asking.” This was protocol, but why did it feel so weird today?

“Yeah,” the man mumbled.

“May I interest you in--”

“Can--Can I just get a coffee. Please? Creamy. Sugar. Lots of sugar.”

“Okay. And will that be--”

“Get me some pie. Apple pie. Whip cream on top. Off you go.”

Bewildered, Steve slouched his way to deliver the order. _That was rude_ , he thought. _Incredibly rude. Who does he think he is?_

He had dealt with rude customers before but never like this. The aura was different. His tone of voice, his manner of speaking . . . it was different. Not only that but . . . didn’t he look familiar?

Steve never really considered his customers. He usually avoided eye contact and never attempted to strike up a conversation except for the usual politeness he was expected to display. He just didn’t care for it. But, this man . . .

He brought the bill of his cap further up his forehead. He needed to get a good look at this man and couldn’t risk any obstacles. “I’ll just go tell him that his order will be right up. Yeah. That’s it.” He made his way back to him. From his approach, he could see the side of the man’s face. His hair was dark with strands sticking out from many directions. It was unruly and messy, much like this man’s personality. He was wearing what appeared to be an expensive black suit, but the way he wore it (wrinkly, collar upturned) gave him the appearance of an unemployed person who knew he had failed a job interview. His otherwise beautiful, honey-brown eyes were contrasted by the heavy bags on his eyelids. And, his beard, which imprisoned his pink lips, appeared a bit unkempt. He appeared to be in bad shape, yet Steve could still see that he held some extremely handsome features.

He was only a couple of steps away when he realized why the man appeared so familiar. He’d seen him on the news! Yes. The diner usually had its television set on during the day, and this man (what was his name?) he’d come out talking about some form of new energy. It was all so scientific, so Steve didn’t really understand most of what was being discussed. Still, the man had sounded highly intelligent and extremely confident. 

“Steve!” Startled, he turned around. One of the cooks was beckoning toward him with one hand and pointing at a coffee cup with the other. 

“Are you gonna go get that?”

“Huh?” Steve turned back to the customer.

“The coffee? Or am I expected to go get it, too? What was it . . . Steve, right?”

 _Oh, no._ He could feel the heat flowing through his cheeks. His mouth felt dry. He couldn’t speak. “Um, I, uh, was just--I was--”

“How about less talking more walking, alright . . . Steve . . .”

His face flushed even more, but he managed to turn away from his piercing brown eyes and fumble his way to the steaming cup of coffee. He tried to gain control of his trembling hands before reaching for the saucer. 

“Take deep breaths. Just get it and go.” Still, did he--it did appear that the man (what was his freaking name?!) had smiled right before Steve turned away from him. Maybe it was just his imagination.

“Yo, Steve.” Luke, the head chef, placed a small plate next to the saucer. 

“What?”

Eyebrow raised, Luke answered his question with a single word. “Pie.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. The . . . pie . . . The pie. Apple pie.”

“You alright, man?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just gotta get this to over there and come back and--I gotta go, Luke. Nice meeting you.”

“Uh . . . yeah . . . wait, what?”

Steve was already tending to his customer. 

“Here you go, sir,” he managed to let out before the nervousness overtook him. He’d been worried that he’d spill the coffee on the man’s ruffled suit, but his hands were surprisingly calm, and he managed to place everything on the table with ease.

The man met his blue eyes. “Thank you . . . Steve.”

With the sound of his name, his stomach felt as if it were going to contract on him. His palms became sweaty and his neck felt drenched. _Where did all this sweat come from?_

“Uh, yeah. No problem. I mean, I do this every day, because it’s . . . my . . . job . . . that I . . . get paid for . . .” _Dammit!_

“Yes. I am quite familiar with how jobs operate.”

Steve let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah . . . You would, because you probably have one, too. A job, I mean.”

The man didn’t say anything. They’d been making eye contact for a while now and Steve was beginning to feel uneasy.

“So,” the man began, “is standing there and watching me eat also part of your job or is that just some sort of weird fetish of yours?”

The heat immediately returned to his face. “No! Sorry! Uh, sir! I’m going to go to . . . over there. Um, I’ll be back . . . later. Unless you don’t want me to then . . . I’m just gonna go now.”

He started walking away, but this time he knew it wasn’t his imagination.

The man had smiled.

 _Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying this_ , he thought, as he hastily made his way to the kitchen.

From the window where the cooks placed the finished orders, Steve found that he could observe his customer.

“I do need to be able to see him in case he needs something. Or when he finishes his meal, I have to know when to attend to him,” was his justification for the activity he engaged in. He watched him for several minutes. He had a proper way of eating, one that only those exposed to these mannerisms from a very young age have. 

“Probably born rich,” Steve muttered, a hint of jealousy in his words.

The man was painstakingly focused on his task. Steve had half-expected him to become engrossed in his phone like so many businessmen do, but the man carefully cut up a small piece of his pie and brought it up to his pink lips. 

“I wonder what he does for a living. He’s probably stinking rich.” Steve’s mind began to wander as his eyes dreamily stayed on his customer. He wondered about the mystery man’s house. His car. Did he own a dog? What were his parents like? His friends? His fam--

Awakening from his reverie, his eyes focused on the man’s hands. Besides a golden watch on his left wrist, they were devoid of jewelry. No wife. Maybe he’d taken it off, though. Divorced? Affair? Or just a girlfriend? 

Steve shook his head. Why was he wondering this? It was none of his business. Yet--

The clinking of the cup as it was placed on the saucer signaled Steve that the meal was finished. 

_He’s going to leave_ , Steve thought longingly as he made his final trip to the table. He found himself wanting to remain in the man’s presence. Perhaps, he could do something--anything--to get him to stay a while longer.

As he pondered what to do, the man rose from his seat. He placed something on the table before setting off. 

Mouth agape, Steve watched as the man walked past him. “The bill,” he managed to choke out.

“Hm?” The man turned toward him. “What was that?”

“The-the bill. I haven’t give you the--”

“I think that should cover the bill,” he said as he pointed to the table where not even a minute ago he had sat at sipping his coffee, “and also the tip . . . Steve.”

Steve met his eyes. They were soft and cozy and warmed him up like a mug of hot chocolate on Christmas Eve. He was mesmerized by them as if in a hypnotic trance. 

Then, one of them closed.

Steve blushed as he realized the wink was directed at him.

“Well, thank you for a lovely night, Steve. We should do this again sometime. Peace!”

“Uh, wh--” 

But, before he could utter his question, the man was out the door, and the only sound in the dining room was the clattering of the few dirty dishes left and the familiar chime that signaled when a customer arrived . . . and when they left.


	2. Tony "Freaking" Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve realizes who the mysterious diner-man was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyy two chapters in two days! Let's hope I keep this pattern up :)

“Uggggh!” Steve groaned into his pillow. 

It was past 1 am. His shift had ended over an hour ago. He had come home to his simple, single-person apartment, taken a shower, put on his sweatpants and a white tee, opened his textbook (but gave up after one sentence), and sprawled on his bed. He had been staring at the ceiling trying to take in all that had happened after the man left. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He had walked to the table in order to process the payment and clean up. At least, that was his intention, but upon noticing the single bill the man had left in the center of the table, Steve could not contain his marvel. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision, but, even when it returned, the 100 dollar bill remained on the table. 

“His meal was only 6 dollars, plus some tax . . . that means . . . He left me a tip of over 90 dollars!” Steve placed both his hands on the surface of the table to overcome the minor dizziness he was experiencing. “On a less than 10 dollar meal . . . he left me a 90-something tip. Holy--”

“Yo, Steve. What’s up?”

He balled the bill into his fist. 

“Steve?”

He turned around quickly. “Nothing. I was just . . . cleaning. Can I help you with something, Quill?”

“The dude that just left. Didn’t he look familiar? I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

That same feeling had been haunting Steve the whole night, but he gave up trying to figure it out. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He made his way to the register to deposit the bill and to “keep the change.” He made sure to do it while Quill was still lost in thought. He didn’t want to attract any attention. 

_Why?_

It’s not as if there were anything special to it. It was just a generous tip. An _extremely_ generous tip. Nothing more.

As he was pocketing the man’s generosity, Nat joined the two men. 

“Shifts done?”

“Nah, I still have another hour,” Quill said making his way to where Steve stood.

Steve glanced at the clock. “I’m actually done.” He began undoing his apron as he made his way past the two waiters. 

“Well, bye,” Quill said to him before turning to Nat. “Hey, did you see that one guy on Steve’s section? He looked so familiar.”

“Yeah, he’s the guy that’s always on the news. The rich guy. Invents new tech and used to date that redhead. What’s his name . . .”

Steve had one foot in the kitchen already, but Nat’s words stopped him in his tracks. “No way,” he uttered. “No . . . way . . .”

Nat and Quill had turned their attention to him as he looked back at them. He didn’t need their confirmation, but the look of agreement on their faces as he uttered his next two words more than convinced him that he was right.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And, now, he screamed those same two words into his pillow. “Tony Stark!” He pushed the pillow away. “It was freaking Tony Stark.” He tugged at his blonde hair. “Billionaire, playboy, whatever, whatever. It was Tony freaking Stark.” He began to chuckle. “I served coffee and pie to Tony freaking Stark.” He turned to his side, adjusted his blanket, and closed his eyes. 

He was nearing sleep when his eyes opened wide as if a sudden jolt had awaken him. 

“He said ‘we should do this again,’ didn’t he? What does that mean? What does he mean ‘again’? Ugggh!” He turned face down into his pillow and groaned until his throat was sore, and his eyes finally closed. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His shift didn’t start until 8 tonight. He had two classes in the afternoon, but other than that he had most of the day to focus on his midterm. His assignments were finished ahead of time so as to allow for extra studying time, and he never felt prouder of his ability to think ahead and get the job done. After breakfast, he had dedicated the rest of his morning to a 2-hour study session, then he decided to head out early. He had enough time to enjoy a decent lunch before his first class began. He reached for his coat, decided against it, and opted for his blue cap. He stuffed a notebook and a couple of pencils into his backpack and headed out the door.

  


It was lunchtime, and the lunch rush was in full effect. Steve surveyed the many eateries before him. “Hm. Where to?” The many restaurants and diners were occupied and fast food places were out of the question (they were unsurprisingly crowded). He continued his walk toward campus. If impossible, he could always eat in the college’s luncheon; he’d prefer not to, but he didn’t want to skip lunch again. Last time he did that, he’d decided his breakfast would keep him going until after his shift at the diner ended; however, his shift had gotten extended, and he didn’t eat again until after midnight. Then, he’d woken up with a stomachache due to his late-night fast food binge.

“Never again,” he mumbled to himself as he recalled that morning and his many bathroom trips.

He didn’t mind the walk in this nice spring breeze, so he continued on until he came across a cafe a couple of blocks from the campus. He looked at his watch (yes, he owned a phone, but he figured a glance at the wrist was less time consuming than pulling out his phone from his pocket, turning it on, be greeted by six new messages he had yet to reply to, and, after doing that, placing his phone back in his pocket only to realize that he’d forgotten to check the time). “I still have over an hour before class starts, and the campus is only a five minute walk away from here. There’s not a huge crowd, either. Perfect!” With that, he pushed open the green, wooden door and made his way to the cashier. 

After a friendly exchange of greetings by the two, he ordered his panini and cappuccino and found an empty table out in the patio area. There were only a few other people occupying three of the six tables. College students, perhaps. Steve recognized one of the girls. She was in one of his classes. He couldn’t recall which one nor did he bother to remember. He mostly kept to himself, not bothering to deal with those around him. Which is why his encounter with Tony Stark ( _ha! I remembered his name_ ) was still on his mind. 

As much as he did not want to admit it, it had been bothering him all morning. Normally, he wouldn’t remember a single customer’s face after his shift ended. But, Tony . . . he was different. 

He’d dreamt about him. It was a weird dream, too. He’d been walking through a forest searching for something or hiding something, it was all too fuzzy, when he’d heard Tony’s voice behind him. Steve had turned but there was nobody there, so he followed the voice. Eventually, he had come upon a small cabin, and Tony was standing outside motioning for him to enter. Whether he entered or not, Steve couldn’t recall, but he did remember a certain longing for . . .

_for what?_

_Tony?_

“No. That couldn’t be it.” He took a sip of his drink and attempted to put it out of his mind. But, the more he fought against it, the more vividly Tony appeared. And, the feelings that came with him. 

“What feelings?! I don’t even know the guy.” His face flushed as he realized he had said that out loud, and he quickly glanced around to ensure that nobody had heard him. Upon observing the undisturbed conversations the people around him were still invested in, he let out a sigh of relief and focused on his lunch. 

The food was quite delicious. No wonder this cafe was popular within the walls of the campus. And, the view was great. He was enjoying watching the cars pass him by, and the pedestrians rush off to their next destination. 

In the midst of his observation, a luxurious car stationed itself in front of Steve’s gaze. It was a dark purple, a color never bestowed upon his eyes before this moment. Its surface shimmered with the sun’s rays and reflected the amazed looks of the faces gawking at it. It was gorgeous.

Steve watched in awe as the chauffeur opened the door and stepped out.

Then, his jaw dropped.

It was him!

He brought his hat down as close to his eyes as he could as if obstructing his vision would make him invisible. “Tony Stark,” he muttered. _There’s no way he’d come to a cafe. He’s one of those rich guys, and rich guys eat at rich restaurants_ , he thought, completely forgetting where his first encounter with Tony had taken place. _Right?!_

He waited. Tony was right outside the cafe. It looked as if he was deciding whether it was worthy of his presence or not. After nearly a minute, though, he made his way to the entrance. 

Steve gritted his teeth. _Maybe he’ll buy something and leave. There’s no way a rich guy like him would eat in this type of establishment surrounded by broke college students. Yeah, that’s right._

With his newfound self-reassurance, Steve took another bite of his chicken-filled panini and savored each ingredient. Again, the popularity of this cafe was not overrated. It was well-deserved.

Steve’s oddly peaceful state was interrupted by a single word.

“Steve?”

It wasn’t his name being said that shattered Steve’s blissfulness, but the voice which uttered it.

“Hey, you are Steve. From the diner,” Tony said as he took an empty seat at Steve’s table. “What have you been up to?”

“Umm, hi. I’m--I was just--I have class right now, so . . .” 

“You still haven’t finished your food.”

Steve looked down at his half-eaten panini and nearly intact cup. “I had a big breakfast. I gotta go.” He rose from his chair, grabbed his pack, which he had placed under his chair, and threw it over his shoulder. He dismissed himself with an “I’m running late. Sorry.” and threw his panini away. Hopefully the capuccino would hold him up until dinner time.

_Good thing I have a late shift today_ , he thought as he pulled the door that led to his escape.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After his second meeting with the self-proclaimed billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Steve’s day had been a blur. He had arrived forty minutes earlier than usual to his first class and attempted to use this extra time to study for his midterm, but his mind kept wandering back to Tony Stark. He was regretting not holding a conversation with him, but, if he did, he was afraid he wouldn’t want to leave. Tony Stark’s presence was strong. Even in those couple of minutes he spent with him, it had already obtained a hold on Steve. 

He wasn’t able to study. Nor did he pay much attention to whatever Professor Zemo was blabbering on about, which was not good for Steve seeing as that he had failed this math class last semester and was retaking it in order to graduate this semester.

His next class went pretty much the same way. He tried to pay attention to what Professor Danvers was saying, but his concentration was not adept, and his focus kept wavering. In the end, he gave up and decided to just glance over the powerpoints on his own before his shift at the diner began. So, after a few pages of notes and a quick dinner courtesy of his microwave, he had set off to his establishment.

  


“Tough day?” Luke asked Steve as he put on his apron.

“You have no idea,” Steve replied. 

“Well, you got a night shift on a weekday, so shouldn’t be a problem.”

“We’ll see.” Steve gave him a nod and a smile before attending to the young couple seated at one of his tables. 

Being back in the working environment helped him clear his mind. He was focused and attentive. It was as if all that had never happened. 

 

That is, until about three hours into his shift when _he_ entered the diner once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh cliffhanger.....


	3. Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve encounters Tony for the second time that day, and they engage in their longest conversation thus far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You look great today. Keep doing you

_It was him! Why?!_

Steve had dove into the kitchen in a failed attempt to hide from him, but even without looking he could sense which table he'd take.

Sure enough, after the greeter had done his job, Steve's name was called.

Reluctantly, Steve stepped through the swinging doors.

“Steve! What are you doing back there?”

“Sorry, Sam. I just needed a breather.”

“Well, get your ass in gear. It’s him again, and he specifically asked to be seated there. It’s Tony Stark! Attend to him well, bro.” The chimes signaling another customer echoed. “He’s all yours,” Sam said as he patted Steve on the shoulder.

Steve watched as Sam greeted the new customers, three young ladies, and led them to their seats.

What could he do? He was thinking about asking Nat to take over his table, but she’d question why, and that was a question for which he’d have no answer. It would’ve been easy to convince Quill, just talk to him about a potential huge tip, but he was off today. 

Realistically, there was no reason for him not to wait on Mr. Tony Stark, but he couldn’t rid of the nervousness he felt in his presence. So, he mustered up enough courage, wiped his sweaty palms, and, with a deep breath, he approached the very same table Mr. Stark had sat at just 24 hours ago. Notepad in hand, he offered him a friendly greeting.

“Good evening, Mr. Stark--Uhh . . .” _Crap!_ He had called him by name!

“Oh. So you _did_ know who I was. I was beginning to think you were one of those people that pay no mind to the world around them,” he said with a smirk.

“Um, I figured it out after you left,” Steve replied looking away from him. He couldn’t stand looking him right in the eyes. He felt as if though he’d fall under a trance if he so much as peeked.

“Quick Google search?”

“Huh? Oh, um, no. I just . . . remembered, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Tony looked down at his menu, and Steve took this chance to observe him. He was wearing the same clothes he had on this morning (a white dress shirt and dark jeans), but he appeared different. After a brief moment, Steve realized why. His shirt was extremely crumpled and his jeans were stained in various locations. In addition, his face looked . . . tired.

Considering that Tony Stark was known for inventing, Steve brushed it off and continued with his routine.

“Can I start you off with a drink, sir?”

“None of this 'sir' nonsense. We’re on a first-name basis already, Steve. Call me 'Tony.'”

“Uhh, okay. Sure. Umm, Tony?” It sounded weird coming from his lips. Maybe he could work around the name thing.

Tony shrugged. “It’s a start. Anyway, I’d like the same as last time. Coffee and pie.” 

“Coming right up, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony.”

“Sure.”

Steve placed the order and leaned against the wall. This was going to be another long night.

  


The bell interrupted his reverie, and the booming voice from behind him put him on high alert. 

“Order up!”

“Got it, Luke.” Steve took in a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this, Steve. Just give him his stuff and leave.” That was the plan, but plans don’t always play out to one’s expectations.

“Here you go, sir--umm, T--Mr. Stark . . . sir,” he stammered as he gently placed the items on the table. He turned around as soon as the last plate hit the table, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him in his tracks.

“Whoa there, kid! Why the rush?”

“I have to attend to other customers.” 

Tony looked around at the nearly deserted diner. “Mm, yeah. Okay, how about we do this instead? I have a small problem, and you seem like a smart kid.”

“Well, actually, I’m barely passing math, so I wouldn’t go as far as--”

“Anyway, here’s the sitch. I’m in a bit of an ‘inventor’s slump’ as one might say. And, I have to whip out some new tech soon. But, I just can’t--” The pause lasted long enough to make Steve uncomfortable. He began slowly shifting his weight from one leg to the other before Tony continued. “I can’t get inspired. I don’t know. There’s something--” he brought both his hands to his face and rapidly dragged them away and down onto the table. The small thud startled Steve. “I was hoping you could inspire me somehow.” He looked up at Steve with those syrupy, brown eyes.

“Me? Uh, well, I don’t know much about inventions, sir--uh, Mr. Stark. I mean, I’m a history major, so--”

“History!” Tony slammed his hands on the table again. “History is filled with technology. I could make this work.”

“Huh? Well, I mean, I--”

“Enough with the rambling, sweetheart. Feed me ideas.”

Adjusting his hat, Steve sneaked a look into his hungry eyes. They were gleaming with curiosity. What could he say? He could barely properly operate a computer, and technology never interested him much. But, he had to say something or else Tony would refuse to let him leave. 

“Um, uh, well, I--uh--couldn’t sleep last night so--”

“Energy depletion, huh?” Tony was looking down at his pie. “I see. Even with various sources of energy, we are still on the brink of,” “not to mention the waste,” “if I could somehow reverse the . . .”

Steve was only able to grasp fragments of what the genius before him was saying. Tony’s voice had began to fade as he mumbled on about whatever it was that triggered him, and it was beginning to feel awkward for Steve. He was just standing there watching this disheveled man mutter to himself. Yet, he couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t! The energy around them had changed. It was exciting and interesting. Steve could feel the blood pumping through his veins, and his heart began to beat faster. He was filled with adrenaline. 

Tony jumped out of his seat, the chair nearly toppling in the process. “I got it!” He placed both hands on Steve’s shoulders causing the younger man to jump.

“Uh, Mr. St--”

“Thank you so much for your help, Steve. You truly are brilliant.”

“But, I didn’t do anything.”

“I gotta go write this down before I forget. Where’s my phone?” He patted his jeans until he felt the familiar rectangular object in one of its pockets. He took it out and voiced some commands. After he had finished, he turned his attention back to Steve. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He reached into his other pocket and took out a leather wallet. “Uh,” he searched through it with nimble fingers and brought out a single bill. “Here. And, thanks again. You were a huge help,” he said as he pressed the bill into Steve’s hand.

“But, I didn’t--”

“See you soon,” he called back before the chimes once again signaled his departure.

“--do anything.” Steve blinked rapidly as if he had just awoken from a dream. “What just happened?” He noticed the pie and the coffee were untouched. “One bite wouldn’t hurt,” he said as he sat down in the chair still warm from its last occupant and proceeded to finish the meal Tony hadn’t started. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, Steve couldn’t wait for his shift to start. It started at four, but at ten in the morning, during his first class of the day, he was already anxious for his shift at the diner to begin. This time, however, he managed to push Tony Stark out of his mind and focus on what Professor Danvers was saying. He enjoyed art very much, which is why he had made it his minor, but he had to use all his energy to focus on the assignment that he was all but drained when he reached his next class. And by his third one, he had trouble moving his pencil across the paper. He had never been more grateful for the school day to end and rushed out of the classroom.

He had almost reached the sidewalk when he heard a voice calling out to him. At first, he thought (hoped!) it might be Tony, but, when his name was called a second time, he noticed that its owner was female. 

“Hey,” she said breathlessly. _It's the girl from the cafe_ , he noted. “Steve right? I’m Peggy. I’m in your history class. The one you just got out of.”

“Oh. Ok. Hi.” Steve had no idea what she wanted with him, and he had to get ready for work. He was certain she could sense his urgency.

“Sorry to bother you, but I had to leave early last time, and I missed the last of the lecture. I heard it was going to be on our midterm, and I always see you taking notes in class, so I was wondering if you’d let me borrow them,” she spoke quickly. 

“Yeah. Sure.” He took off his backpack and searched for his notebook amidst the single leaflets.

“That Professor X sure is something.”

“Huh?” he said as he handed her his notebook.

“Professor Xavier. He just seems so . . . intelligent. He probably has psychic abilities or something.”

Steve let out a polite laugh. “Yeah. I wouldn’t doubt it.”

She offered him a smile. “Thanks again. I owe you one.”

“No problem.” 

They both uttered polite farewells and walked in opposite directions. Peggy to her apartment, and Steve to his fourth encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Peggy. Anybody watch Agent Carter? It was a good show. Needed more seasons


	4. Cheeseburger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is craving something that's not on the menu (no, it's not that you perverts! This is rated T!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose had this idea, and I wanted to incorporate it into the fanfic. So, this was Rose's idea; I just expanded on it. ;-)

“Why don’t you sell cheeseburgers?”

“Come again?”

For the third straight day in a row, Tony had come to the diner at around 11 pm and sat at this table ( _the table_ ). This time he was wearing a gray tee with some sort of graphic printed on it and jeans. The shirt was rumpled, but the jeans looked fairly wrinkle-free. And, no stains. Tony’s hair was still a bit disheveled, Steve had noted, though his beard had been recently trimmed. He still looked exhausted, and those black circles under his eyes appeared to have darkened. 

Steve had been prepared to bring him his coffee and pie when Tony had asked to see the menu once more. 

“Cheeseburgers. They’re like hamburgers, but with cheese,” Tony teased.

“I know what they are, I just mean, um, why the sudden interest?”

“I was in the mood for one, but there aren’t any on the menu. Why is that?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. But, if you want one so badly why don’t you go across the street? They sell some right there, and it’s opened pretty late.”

“But, then I’d have to leave you . . .”

Steve’s face turned crimson red. “Huh?”

“. . . and I’m having another bit of a problem, so I need to bounce ideas off of you again.”

“Oh.” He could feel his body returning to its regular temperature.

“But, seriously. What type of a diner doesn’t serve cheeseburgers? Who made this menu?”

“I don’t know. The owner?”

Tony turned his attention from the menu to Steve. “You sure don’t know a lot of things, Steve.” He let out a long breath of air before adding, “Who’s the owner of this joint? Is it this, this,” he turned the menu over and flicked it with his index finger, “this _Lee_?”

“I don’t kn--I never met him. I heard he’s still around, though.”

“Really? Lee of _Lee’s Diner_. So, you’re still around. Still hating cheeseburgers.”

Steve laughed. He tried to stifle it but failed. This man’s disdain for the cheeseburger-less menu was amusing to him. “Sorry, sir. Sorry.” He recuperated himself and asked him if he’d like the usual to which Tony replied with a stern yes.

“If I can’t get the cheeseburger then might as well. Oh, and come back soon. I need ideas.”

“Sure thing.”

Back in the kitchen, Luke was already heating up the coffee and preparing the pie. 

“Hey, Steve.” 

The urgency in Luke’s voice surprised him. “Something wrong?”

“I gotta head out for a little bit. It’s a weekday, and the place is nearly empty, but if anybody else comes in, you think you could man the fort ‘til I get back. It’ll only be a few minutes. Stall them or something.”

“Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

Luke placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll be back quick. Don’t burn the place down.”

“I won’t!” Steve called after him as Luke made his way through the backdoor. 

He finished preparing the pie and made the coffee, but, as soon as his fingers touched the plates, he stopped. He had the kitchen to himself. Perhaps he could . . .

The grill was still hot. There was meat. Buns. Vegetables. And . . . cheese. 

A smile spread on his face. “Well, then . . . why not?”

 

The tapping of his fingers echoed across the empty diner. His order was taking longer than usual, and Steve hadn’t returned. Tony was beginning to get anxious. He couldn’t bare being in this diner without Steve. It felt . . . odd.

“Where are you?” Tony whispered. His left leg began to bounce up and down. He took no notice. 

Then, the door leading to the kitchen swung open, and Steve walked out carrying something that was not his pie in a large platter.

“Here you are,” Steve said as he placed the meal in front of Tony.

Tony’s mouth had began to water, and an emptiness overtook his stomach. He placed his palm on the bun. _So warm_ , he thought. Then he slowly pulled the bun upward revealing its innards. There was lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, and . . .

“Cheese . . .”

“Yep. The, uh, cook left, so I made you a cheeseburger. I mean, the ingredients were practically laid out for me, so I had to take advantage of the situation. There were even fries there, too, so, um . . . Also, it is pretty weird that a diner doesn’t serve cheeseburgers. It’s so oddly specific.”

Tony took a bite out of his burger. The heat was perfect. He could feel the juices flow into his mouth, intertwined with his saliva. The pickle's sour taste meshed perfectly with the sweetness of the tomato. And, the meat. The meat wasn't hard, or charred, or raw. It was a perfect bliss of tenderness and flavor.

But, best of all, was the cheese. The cheddar cheese that oh-so expertly melted into the patty. The cheese whose yellow texture seeped out the meat's savory fluids. The cheese that peeked from beneath the assortment of vegetables placed upon it. Tony couldn't believe that a simple waiter like Steve could have prepared such a thing. It was heavenly.

Steve looked down at him nervously waiting for him to gulp down that first bite. “Did--did you like it?”

Tony closed his eyes as he tried to rearrange his thoughts. “Steve,” he began, “I’m beginning to like you.”

“Was the cheeseburger that good?” Steve said with a smile.

“Not as good as you . . . are going to be in helping me solve my new problem,” Tony said before munching on a ketchup-covered french fry.

Steve let out a groan. He had forgotten about this minor detail. Looking around the room, he hesitated, then sat down in the seat opposite Tony. The diner was empty, except for them, Sam, who was playing games on his phone, and another waiter. “Okay. Shoot.”

Tony offered him a french fry, which he accepted. 

“Here’s the gist. I laid out a blueprint for the tech you came up with yesterday.”

“But, I didn’t--”

“Don’t--don’t interrupt me. I began constructing the exoskeleton as well, but I’m missing a key ingredient. It’s a highly combustible element under rigid enforcement by the FDA. It’s not easy to get ahold of, even for me. Which, is pretty much saying something. I’m probably better off finding a suitable replacement. Although, I’d really like to get my hands on it.”

“I’m starting to believe that you want to get it just to prove you can rather than because it’s necessary for your project.”

A grin spread across Tony’s face. “Three days and you already know everything about me, huh? You can’t even bring yourself to say my first name.”

Blushing, Steve looked away. “I--I just mean that the idea of a challenge is what’s driving you. If the material were easily obtainable you probably wouldn’t give it a second thought. But, it’s something you can’t easily have. So, you want it.”

Tony reclined on his chair. His tongue momentarily slipped out and darkened his pink lips. “Maybe you should change your major to psychology. So, any suggestions?”

“I would suggest you go for the replacement if you can find one that’s just as good, but, if you really think this is the most suitable one then . . . I don’t know. Can’t you just talk to them?”

A chuckle erupted from Tony’s throat. “Oh, Steve. You’re as naive as you are cute.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

Ignoring him, Tony continued, “But, I suppose I could sweet talk my way in. Or perhaps . . .”

His voice faded, and Steve struggled to pick up fragments of his mutterings. 

“. . . father’s comrade . . . easily manipulated . . . if I make my way into their circle . . .”

After a minute, Steve gave up trying to decipher Tony’s gibberish. He helped himself to Tony’s fries. The mumbling man didn’t seem to notice his diminishing plate of fries even though he was looking right at it. _I’ll never understand rich geniuses_ , Steve thought as he munched on two fries at once. 

As he reached for another, Tony’s hands slammed down. At first, Steve thought he was going to receive Hell from Tony for eating most of the fries, but the sparkling in Tony’s eyes told him otherwise.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I got it! Oh, I got it. If everything goes according to plan, I shall have my hands on that magnificent beauty by tomorrow. Next time we meet, Steve, I will be the only person in the world to have it. And, it’s all thanks to you.” Tony bent over the table and placed either of his hands on Steve’s rose cheeks. 

Steve’s lips puckered under the pressure Tony delivered to his cheeks. Then, he felt his head being pulled up, toward him. He could see those syrupy brown eyes he’d been admiring since their first encounter. He could feel the warmth of Tony’s breath on his lips. He had never been so physically close to someone as he was now to Tony Stark. He gripped the edge of the table with both hands until his fingertips went numb. The two seconds that had passed since Tony’s hands touched his cheeks felt like an eternity. Time was irrelevant. It didn’t exist. He didn’t want it to exist! He had a strange desire for this moment to last even longer. And, for Tony to get even closer. Was it possible? Maybe. If he just--

“You truly are a genius.” 

Tony’s words brought him back. 

“Huh? Oh, um, yeah. Sure. But, I didn't really do anything.”

"That's how good you are." Tony offered him a smile and removed his hands from Steve’s burning cheeks. He rose from his seat and took a few steps toward Steve. Snickering, he put his right hand on Steve’s left shoulder, gave him three small pats before removing it, and reached for his wallet. 

“Well, this should cover meal and tip. And, now I gotta go and set things in motion. Actually, can I get that cheeseburger to go? Thanks again, junior.” He placed the bill in Steve’s hand and waited for the young waiter to return with a carry-out box. Tony promptly placed his barely eaten burger in the white, styrofoam box and nearly ran out the door. 

Steve kept staring ahead, unmoving as if he were cemented to the ground. He just kept staring. Not at anything in particular. The touch. His cheeks still felt the warmth of Tony’s hands. And his shoulder. It was as if Tony’s hand had carved itself into his very skin. What was going on? Why did he feel this way?

He buried his face in his hands. “I don’t feel so good.” 

Mustering as much of his remaining strength as he could, he walked over to Sam and excused himself before his shift ended. Luckily, the other waiter was more than willing to clear his table and take over his remaining hour. 

“Maybe you caught that virus going around,” the suit-wearing waiter offered politely.

Steve let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. Thanks again, Phil.” 

"Anytime, Steve."

He grabbed his items and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I described cheese, you guys. Cheese!


	5. Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Friday night encounter leaves Steve feeling a bit . . . uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Twenty Øne Piløts as I edited this chapter and I noticed that HeavyDirtySoul kinda fits Stony |-/

Finally Friday. 

He still had to work this weekend, but at least his classes would be on pause. He had the morning shift on Saturday and the afternoon shift Sunday. They were two of the diner’s busiest times. Not to mention, his shift tonight was the busiest of the weekend. 

“A lot of people go out on Fridays.” He kicked a small rock, whose only crime was being in his way, and watched it skitter through the ocean of sneaker-clad feet. He continued on his path back to his apartment occasionally taking sips of the fizzy drink he had bought at a fast food place a few blocks back. 

He took out his phone, checked the few messages he had, and stuffed it back in his pocket. “Nothing of importance.” 

He turned the corner, crossed an intersection, passed a couple more buildings, and finally stepped through the huge, white door of his apartment complex. Once inside, he headed straight to the elevator. The emptiness of it brought a smile to his face. After punching the button with a bold, black “4,” he stepped back and watched the numbers above him light up.

1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . .

_Ding!_

He stepped out before the metallic doors fully slid open and continued down the hall pausing at the door decorated with the number “42” to fish out his key from his backpack. “Where are you?” He moved aside pencils and loose papers until he felt the familiar jagged outline of a key. “There you are.”

Inside his comfortable one-bedroom apartment, he tossed his backpack aside, placed his blue cap on the nightstand, and sat at the dining table. 

He looked at the clock. “I still got two hours before my shift starts. I wonder if he’ll show up again.” His mind began to drift. It was Friday. A good-looking, rich man like him . . . he probably had women after women in line waiting for an opportunity to go out with him. Fridays were always filled with couples. Maybe he’d show up with a woman in tow. “No,” he said shaking his head. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. It’s none of my business. I don’t even know him. I mean, we’ve only had like two decent conversations.” He scratched at his head. “Argh! What is wrong with me?!” He stood up, forcibly knocking over his chair. “I can’t deal with this right now. I have to go get ready for work. Or study for my midterm. Or . . . something!”

He walked out of the kitchen and crossed his bedroom to reach the bathroom. “I’ll just take a nice, calming shower to put that man out of my mind.” He undressed as the water poured from the overhead shower. As soon as the water was to his preference, he stepped in and let it pour over every surface of his muscular body. He stood there watching the droplets glide down his smooth skin. He examined his nudity as the cool, clear liquid rained down on him. It streamed down his chest, his abs, his legs, drenching him in its chilling freshness. Droplets slid across his arms and came together at his fingertips where they fell on the ceramic tub with a dull _thud_. He stared at the puddle below his naked feet. “I wonder how he’d look naked.” 

It took him a couple of seconds to realize what had just come out of his mouth, and he raised both hands to his lips as if covering his mouth would cease any other thoughts from seeping through. His face flushed and even with the cool water hitting every inch of him, his body still radiated with heat. He shook his head rapidly, decorating the shower walls with water droplets from his blonde hair. 

“No no no no no no . . . I got to stop thinking about him. Who cares if he comes in with another woman? It’s his life. I’m not a part of it. I need to stop being like this.”

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then repeated the process two more times. “Okay. I’m okay. It’s fine.” Convinced, he finished his shower and readied himself for work.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

At the diner, he found himself glancing at his watch every ten minutes. 

“You want to leave already?”

Steve turned to Quill. 

“You just got here,” Quill continued as he tapped the bill of Steve’s hat.

“No, I just . . . like looking at the time.”

Quill’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re kinda weird sometimes, you know.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Quill replied by shrugging his shoulders and walked back to his tables. The diner was busy today. More so than any other Friday. But, even with all these people walking in, the one Steve was searching for hadn’t . . .

The chimes clattered.

. . . walked in . . .

“Busy tonight.”

“Sure is, Mr. Stark,” Sam said.

“Will you have a table for one available tonight?”

“Actually,” Sam motioned with his hand, “we have your table reserved, Mr. Stark. Steve mentioned you might be dropping by around this time, so I worked my way around it.”

“Steve did? Huh.” From where he stood, Steve could see a smile spread on Tony’s face. “I’ll walk myself over. Thanks, Sam.” 

“No problem, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s Tony,” the billionaire corrected.

Tony made his way to his usual seat and sat down. He didn’t have to wait long for his usual waiter to appear.

“Same as always?”

“No cheeseburger tonight?” Tony said without looking up.

“Kinda of a busy night. Plus, I don’t think Luke will be leaving any time soon.”

“So, last night was a one night stand type of deal.”

“Uh, sure?” Sometimes, the way Tony spoke caught Steve off guard. It wouldn’t bother him except for the fact that Tony would snicker at Steve’s responses. He could feel the red already appearing on his cheeks. “So, coffee and pie?”

“Coffee and pie it is.” 

Tony’s smile faltered, but it was momentarily, so Steve wasn’t sure if he had imagined it or not. “Alright. Coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

Steve headed to the kitchen with his order. It wasn’t just the smile. His eyes . . . they looked different. They didn’t have the eagerness or curiosity they usually held. And, the flirtatious tone his words usually conveyed felt forced. Maybe he hadn’t gotten ahold of whatever that thing was that he had wanted for his invention. Come to think of it, Tony hadn’t brought it up at all. Steve would have to ask him about it when he took his meal.

In the meantime, he waited on his other tables. He took orders. Collected tips. Brought out plate after plate of food. But, the thought that something was off with Tony never left his mind. 

He was so desperate to return to him that when Luke brought up his order, Steve had picked it up before Luke called for him.

“You’re sure on top of it tonight,” he had said.

“Yeah.” A moment of conversation was a moment lost with Tony, so he moved along past the crowded tables and loud discussions. “Here you are,” he said as he placed the cup and plate on the table. “Coffee and pie.”

“Thanks,” Tony said as he stirred his drink. Even his voice had a sullen tone to it.

“Say, um, did you manage to get that sciency thing you needed?”

Tony looked up, confused at first, then, “Oh, yes. Yes. I got it. It was a cinch actually. I had it in my possession by noon.”

“That’s great!” He took a look at Tony’s expression. He didn’t seem “I just got something from the government I shouldn’t have” happy, so he added, “Right?”

“No, yeah. It’s great. I just--have you ever felt like--you know what, nevermind.”

He was stammering. Tony Stark was stammering. Steve felt uncomfortable. “No, go ahead. I want to--”

“Steve.” Sam approached them. “I got some new people seated, and table 6 wants their bill.”

To Sam: “On it.” To Tony: “I’ll be right back.” And, he rushed off to attend to these people as quickly as possible. He took a few more orders, brought out a couple more plates, and dismissed another table before returning to Tony.

“Okay. I’m back.”

Tony had barely taken a bite of his pie, and his coffee appeared untouched. “You sure are,” he said. “What were we talking about?”

“You.”

“Yeah. You know, I feel we always talk about me. Why don’t we talk about you? What’s on your mind?”

“You.”

Tony remained silent.

It seemed every conversation with Tony involved a red-faced Steve, and this time was no different. “Uh, I mean--that’s not--I was just . . . You appeared to have something on your mind, and it seems to be bothering you. I just wanted to be of help.”

Tony managed a small smile. “You’ve helped me a lot already.”

He shook his head. “No. That wasn’t--I really want to help. If you’d let me.”

Nobody spoke for a while, and Steve was beginning to feel rejected when Tony said,

“Okay. Well, I’ve--I’ve been feeling a bit--I don’t know. Low energy?”

“Well, what have you been doing?”

“Besides my new tech? I’ve got tv interviews. Articles. Meetings. Some court thing (it’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it). Not to mention my company’s stocks have been declining which has lead to more meetings. To be honest, the time I spend here in the diner is the only peace of mind I get. All the other times I’m stressing about this or filled with anxiety about that. My mind is constantly turning. On overdrive. That's what it is. Like an old computer running many programs at once. And, these programs, they're supposed to be beneficial to the hardware, but are the benefits really worth the long sleepless nights and loss of appetite? I don’t even feel myself anymore. I feel . . . lost in my own body. I don't even remember who I was . . . ” he put his head in his hands, ". . . or who I'm supposed to be. Is it really all worth it?"

Steve waited for Tony to finish. Then, when it was his turn to speak, he treaded carefully. Tony had gotten personal with him. Steve had never been in this situation before, but he knew that it was thin ice to walk on. Whatever he said next could make or break their (relationship?) whatever it is they had. But, he didn't want to abandon a (friend?) person in their time of need. Especially, if something were to happen . . . He shook the thought out of his head and leaned in closer to Tony. “Mr. St--Tony, I--”

“Steve! Order up!”

_Dammit_

Steve looked at Tony. He had lost his train of thought. 

Tony nodded at him as if giving him permission to do his job.

“Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah,” Tony said waving him off.

Before Steve began walking away he thought he heard Tony mutter something; however, it was so low it could've just been his imagination. It had to be his imagination. Right?

Steve quickly grabbed the plates and took them to their destination. He briefly answered a few questions another table had and refilled somebody’s empty glass with a dark, fizzy drink. Then, after attending to two other tables, he was finally able to get back to where he wanted (needed) to be.

“So,” he began, “I was saying that--”

“No need,” Tony interrupted. “I was thinking about what you said--”

“What I said?” 

“When you asked me what I’ve been doing.”

“Oh, well that wasn’t what I was--”

“Anyways, you’re right. I’ve been doing too much. I need to focus on one thing. I’m going to work on my new tech during the weekend and nothing else.”

“Well, sure, but that’s not what I--”

“I”m going to devote my time and energy on the one thing that truly gets me excited. Then, I’d be back on the track that is life.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “You’re really good at this, you know.” 

“But, I--”

“No, really, Steve. You have been some sort of weird blessing in my life. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome . . . I guess . . .” Steve didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t really done anything . . . had he? No, he hadn’t. It was all him. All . . . Tony. He was the brilliant one. Maybe he should tell him that. He’d probably just brush Steve off. Why was this man so frustrating?! 

And, yet, Steve was always looking forward to his nightly visits to the diner. This was becoming the most anticipated part of his routine. 

“Well,” Tony gulped down the rest of his coffee and placed a bill on the table. “You’re pretty busy tonight. We’ll talk some other time. Thanks, Cap.” He started walking away.

“Cap?”

Tony turned around and pointed at his brown hair before heading out the door.

Confused, Steve reached up to his own head and felt the familiar fabric of his blue cap. “I see,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s . . . funny.” And, with some of his mind at ease, he tended to the rest of his customers. 

Still, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe--just maybe--he could’ve (should’ve!) done a bit more. Especially when the words he had imagined Tony say echoed in his head. But, it was just his imagination. There was no way Tony would utter something like that and in that dark tone. There was no way he would've said

  


_I should have ended it when I had the chance_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we getting into the deeper stuff now.


	6. Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is surprised to find Tony enter the diner during the day, but he's even more surprised by what he had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Morning had been rather busy, but now, with breakfast far gone and an hour left of his shift, Lee’s Diner had began to mellow down. 

Steve had been relaxing in the kitchen when _he_ entered.

Sam didn’t even bother leading him to his table. He offered the sharply suited man a polite greeting and moved out of his way.

 _What is he doing here_ , Steve thought as he peeked from the kitchen, _at this time?_ Still, he felt an odd sense of relief upon seeing him (well? _alive_?) enter. 

Grabbing a menu, Tony headed straight to his usual spot and smiled when he caught a glimmer of Steve’s eyes. Realizing his hiding spot had been revealed, he set off to attend to his customer. 

“How’s it going, Cap?” Tony said when the young waiter reached his table.

Steve looked down in a vague attempt to hide his amusement. “You’re going to keep that, huh?”

“I like it. Suits you.”

“What happens if I stop wearing my blue cap?” he asked, motioning to his hat.

“Nicknames never truly leave you.”

“So, I’m just going to be ‘Cap’ for the rest of my life?”

“As long as you’re with me, yes.”

There it was. The heat. Steve looked away, then back. There was no mistaking it. The unique aroma. Tony was wearing a new cologne. Should he compliment him? Mention it? “Uh, okay, what would you like to order?” He couldn’t. He wanted to ask him so many things (what was he doing here during the day? why was he sharply dressed? was he okay?), but the words failed to come out.

“I haven’t looked at the menu, Cap.”

“S--sorry. I just assumed you’d order the same thing.”

“I want to switch it up.”

Steve smiled. “No cheeseburgers.”

“Fine,” he huffed, but a slight smile was already beginning to form. “I’ll take that,” Tony said pointing at a sandwich platter. “And a soda. Whichever one. Surprise me.”

“Sure.” Steve took the menu from him, turned to leave, hesitated, and then, “By the way, um, why are you here right now? I mean! As opposed to, you know, l-later?”

Tony replied with a smile. “We’re all allowed our secrets, Cap.”

“Sure.” Steve slowly moved away from him, suspicious yet fascinated, and placed the order.

They didn’t talk much. Various times it looked like Tony was trying to tell him something but hesitated. Steve didn’t pry, though. If Tony wanted to tell him, he would, right? 

Plus, Tony looked . . . good. Well, compared to last night, he looked like a whole different person. His eyes had their shine back. And, that syrupy look he so admired. He was wearing a black suit complete with a red tie (nice and pristine). Tony had caught him staring and said, “Interview. I had already agreed to it months ago, so I couldn’t cancel it last minute. At least, that’s what my secretary said.”

“Oh,” Steve had replied.

“Yeah. She even made me wear this new cologne. I think it’s too much.”

“No,” Steve had said rather rapidly. “It’s good. I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“I could get you some. I have the bottle in my car--”

“No. It’s okay. I much prefer it on you.” 

Tony’s eyes widened.

The heat returned to Steve’s cheeks. “I--I mean--”

Tony laughed. “No, no. I get it.”

And, that was the extent of their conversation. Tony did most of the talking, which was great for Steve since he wanted to spend as much time as possible observing this being that was Tony Stark. Also, because it meant Tony was back to his regular self. Perhaps last night was a rare moment. 

During the discourse, Steve had noted a few things. The way his hands moved as he spoke, the way his words flowed pleasantly as though he were reading off a script, and the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke of his new invention-in-progress. Steve was stricken. 

“Well, you should get back to work, and I should, too.”

“Yeah.” Steve had been relaxing on the empty seat in front of Tony, but, as Tony stood, so did he. The diner was nearly empty, and he had no other people to tend to, so he had escaped a Sam Scolding. 

Stretching, Tony pushed his chair in with a nudge of his right foot. He looked lost in thought. “Hey, Steve--I--” He paused as if trying to organize his thoughts. Or, perhaps he was pushing them away. “Uh, same time, same place?”

Steve pretended not to notice his hesitation. “Yeah. My shift starts a couple hours later tomorrow, but I’ll be here at this time.”

“Cool. It’s a date, then.”

Steve laughed. “Whatever you say.”

They exchanged smiles and farewells until Tony was out of sight. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day went down the same way.

Steve didn’t have much work when Tony came in (the work came later, thankfully), so they managed a few different conversations. _Tony is wearing the same cologne as yesterday_ , Steve noted. _His hair looks nice. Beard trimmed. Jeans and tee wrinkle- and stain-free_.

There was one thing, though, that bothered Steve. The same as yesterday. Tony kept holding something back. He’d begin by saying something but quickly change topic. He did it so smoothly that if Steve weren't aware something was wrong he wouldn’t have noticed.

Now, as Tony prepared to leave, he saw him once more waver before saying goodbye. 

Steve had made up his mind to go after him when Tony surprised him by turning around. 

“Listen, Steve,” he started wringing his hands, “do you have any days off?”

The question took him by surprise. “Hm? Me? Oh, uh, yeah. Mondays. Tomorrow. I have tomorrow off.”

“I see. Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Well, it’s a national holiday tomorrow so no classes, but, since I have a math midterm coming up, I was going to spend some time studying. It’s my worst subject, so I--”

“I’m a sort of math expert. Maybe I could help you out?”

“That would be great! The library’s usually packed leading into midterms, but I can reserve--”

“My place.”

“Huh?” Steve wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. 

“I’ll pick you up. Say, around . . . 10? I’ll have breakfast ready.”

Steve blinked dazedly. “What?”

“Actually, I’ll send a chauffeur over. And, afterward we can catch a movie or something. It’s been awhile since I went to the cinema. Sound good?”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“Great.” Tony placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “This time it truly is a date,” he said with a wink and proceeded to make his way out the diner. 

“Wait!” He was already out the door, so Steve rushed after him. He opened the door ignoring the calamity of the chimes. With one hand grasping the opened door and the other reaching out to Tony, he yelled out, “I didn’t give you my address!”

Tony was already stepping inside his car. “Don’t worry about it! I have my ways, Cap. How do you think I figured out you had day shifts on the weekend? See you tomorrow.” His body disappeared inside the car’s red interior. 

Steve saw the window slide down, and, through the crack, Tony’s hand gave him a small wave.

He stood there until the car was out of view. He would’ve stayed standing there for a longer period of time, but Sam was already screaming his name. The infamous Sam Scolding.

“It’s a date,” Steve whispered and headed back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Date chapter is next!


	7. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a date!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Standing with only a towel covering his midsection, Steve surveyed the array of shirts and pants scattered throughout the room. He had barely slept at all last night and had awoken early to prepare for his day with Mr. Tony Stark.

Shower already done, he had gotten into the process of finding the right outfit to wear, but, dissatisfied with his choices, he flung his clothes left and right with the hope that the perfect outfit would materialize right before his very eyes. 

But, he wasn’t a god nor a sorcerer, so that never happened.

He tugged at his damp hair. “Ahhh! Why is choosing a simple outfit so difficult?” He dug through his drawers until there was nothing more. He removed items from his closet until it was empty. He looked through his hamper filled with unwashed laundry until he grew weary. “There is nothing!” Groaning into his hands, he sprawled his naked body on the white tiles of the bathroom floor, its coolness causing a shiver to run down his spine. He looked at his watch. “My ride’s going to be here in less than an hour.” He turned his head and, past the open bathroom door, a piece of red cloth caught his blue eyes.

There, peeking from underneath a pile of clothes, was his canvas web belt, the one with the silver d-ring. He stood up, got ahold of his white towel that was sliding down his naked body, and picked up the belt. 

Looking around the room, he began to get an idea for his outfit-to-be. In his dresser, he found some clean, blue trunks, flung his towel off, and stepped into them. Then, he searched for his black skinny jeans, silently praying that they were not in the dirty hamper. He was beginning to give up when he found them under his bed.

“There we go,” he said as he slid into them. “Now . . . shirt, shirt. Gotta look for a shirt.” He shuffled through the fabrics near his closet flinging them even further across the room until he landed upon the one he was looking for. It was a blue and teal plaid button down shirt. He tossed it onto his shoulder and walked to his dresser where he took out an undershirt from the top drawer and a pair of white socks from the bottom one.

With everything in order, he finished clothing himself and went to the bathroom to give his hair a quick comb. Now, all he needed were shoes, which wasn’t too difficult seeing as to how he only owned three pairs (his running shoes, his white sneakers, and his black ones). He opted for his black ones; they were a little scoffed but not as bad as his white sneakers. 

“Alright,” he looked at his watch. “10 minutes ‘til 10.” He chuckled at his little discovery and proceeded to get his things in order. “Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Notes slash backpack? Check and check. Okay. I think I got everything.”

As if on cue, his phone vibrated. It was a number unsaved on his phone, but by the message he knew who it was from.

“‘Transportation should be outside by now’,” Steve read the text aloud. “How did--” Another buzzing interrupted his sentence.

“‘Scratch that. It IS outside. Hurry, Cap.’” Steve put his phone away and tossed his pack over one shoulder. As his hand grasped the doorknob, he spotted a pair of black sunglasses on the nightstand, grabbed them, and locked the door as he stepped out. 

During the short elevator ride down, he placed the sunglasses on his face and took out his phone. If Tony had his number, it was only fair that he’d have his. He saved the number the texts had come from under “Tony.”

As, he walked out the apartment complex, he realized Tony hadn’t described the vehicle nor the chauffeur, but, once he stepped out, he saw why. There was no need to. 

“Holy--”

A long, black limousine was stationed right outside the entrance to the building. Steve walked over, a bit unsure himself, but the driver opened the door wide for him. Steve walked slowly, both in disbelief and awe, and surveyed the sight before him. The interior was a seductive red. When his body touched the seat, he felt as if he were floating on a giant cloud. The driver closed the door and left Steve to himself. 

“This is incredible,” he laughed. He took out his phone and recorded the interior of the limo. “Just awesome.” The engine started, and they took off less than a minute after. The elation Steve had felt began to slowly dissolve every block nearer to Tony Stark. 

He was going to spend a whole day with _THE_ Tony Stark. A whole day. Just him and Tony. His hands began to shake, and he could feel perspiration drench the back of his neck. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“No cap today, Cap?” Tony greeted him in a nice, striped, collared shirt tucked into a pair of gray jeans. He had been sitting behind a large, mahogany table. 

Steve motioned to his head. “Didn’t want to mess up my hair, so I opted for sunglasses.”

The sharply-dressed butler that had lead him to Tony’s study excused himself leaving Tony and Steve alone in the enormous room. 

Steve was observing the carpeted-room’s tan walls and many portraits when Tony motioned to the door.

“Breakfast is ready. Shall we?”

“Sure.” Steve followed him down the hall, past many closed doors, to the archway of the dining room.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. The table was filled with a variety of delicious breakfast-foods. Platter after platter were still being brought in by the cooks. 

“Dig in. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I just had my cooks make one of everything.”

“This is a lot of food. I--I don’t think we’re even going to get to half of it!”

“Don’t worry. There’s a soup kitchen about five miles from here. They’ll take care of the rest.”

“Oh. That’s actually pretty . . . thoughtful,” Steve said incredulously.

Tony smiled. “Not all rich, white men are ungrateful, spoiled brats. Just the majority.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. He took the seat being offered to him and began serving himself from the many dishes before him.

The scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, pancakes . . . they were all so mouthwatering. He wanted to savor each bite, but his hunger was taking over, and he ended up scarfing down the food on his plate. 

After gulping down his last mouthful, he said, “This is so good. I wish I could eat more.”

Tony didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood up. “Now, about that midterm?”

“Oh, right!” Steve had nearly forgotten what he was here for. It dawned on him that he had left his backpack in Tony’s study.

Tony saw him looking around and told him, “I had Jarvis move your stuff to the library. No need to have a heart attack.”

The blush never failed. “I--I was just--I didn’t--I mean--”

“Quit your stammering, and let’s go, Junior.”

Already nearly out of the diner, Tony stopped and waited for his guest to catch up to him. He was aware that his house was big, and the last thing he wanted was for Steve to get lost. Although he also found the thought of that happening quite amusing.

They walked through a pair of giant mahogany doors, and, after the limo, study room, and breakfast buffet, Steve didn’t think anything else would surprise him, but, Tony Stark, as he had figured out, was full of surprises. It was two stories high with bookshelves reaching the ceiling. 

“The math section is over here,” Tony said, ignoring the dumbfounded man beside him. 

Tony stopped at one of the leather couches, and Steve took the seat next to him. Sure enough, his backpack was leaning on the coffee table before them. 

Steve had taken off his sunglasses during the morning feast, and, now, he placed them on the edge of the table. “Um, shall we begin?”

“Whenever you’re ready, Cap.” Tony leaned back on the couch and crossed his right leg over his left. “I’ve got all day.”

Smiling, Steve began placing his notes on the table. “Okay, so . . .”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Their study session lasted over six hours. During lunch, Jarvis had brought them some toasted sandwiches and a cocktail of fruit accompanied with a cool glass of lemonade.

At 5:06, Steve put his pencil down and cracked his knuckles. He let his legs stretch under the table as he let out a long sigh. “Finally! Done.” 

“How do you feel?” Tony inquired.

“In general or about the test?”

“Well, I was talking about the test, but if you want to tell me your whole life story, I’m all up for it,” Tony said with a smirk.

Steve held back a chuckle and appeared annoyed. “For your information, I feel quite confident. I don’t know if it’s because I actually understand the material or because I’ve given up, but that’s how I feel.”

Tony patted him on the back. “You’ll do fine, Cap. After all, you had a great mentor.” 

“You know,” Steve countered, “now I’m kinda hoping I do fail.”

“Not funny. Anyways,” Tony rose from his seat, “there’s a showing at 5:45. If we leave now, we’ll get there in time.”

Eyebrow raised, Steve asked, “Showing for what?”

“The movie we’re going to watch, of course,” Tony stated as if the answer were obvious.

“Movie?”

Tony grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him off the couch. “Yes! Let’s go.” He pulled Steve out the library, down the hall, into his garage decorated with luxurious vehicles, not letting go of his hand until they reached his white Audi. “You want to drive or me?”

“Uh,” Steve stared at the Spyder flabbergasted. _This man!_ He was scared to even touch it much less drive it. “You drive.”

Tony grinned. “As the prince wishes.”

“Shut up,” he said as he made his way to the passenger’s seat. 

The engine roared as they left the cavernous garage.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After the movie (it was some superhero movie where the "heroes" spent more time fighting amongst themselves than they did fighting the actual villains; Steve thought it silly), they grabbed some chinese take-out and ate it down in Tony’s lab. Tony showed him his finished (and unfinished) projects. He refused to show him his latest project because, in his own words, "it's not time, yet." He tried to explain some of the functions his projects had, but Steve was not as “techy” as he, so he kept his explanations to a minimum.

Steve, however, enjoyed hearing those foreign words come out from Tony’s lips. It wasn’t so much what he was saying, but how he said it. From his seat, Steve saw the way the sparkle in his eyes would brighten like the stars out in the countryside. His arms would flail about as he illustrated how something worked. And, his body moved this way and that. Sometimes he’d spring across the room, and other times he’d lean in close to Steve. Steve realized that Tony wasn’t aware he was doing any of this, but Steve thought it beautiful. He couldn’t help but smile.

And, Tony noticed.

“What’s so amusing?” 

Reflexively, Steve replied quickly, “You.”

Tony, without hesitation, said, “Quite flattering that I’m always on your mind, Cap.”

A deep crimson red invaded Steve’s cheeks. Tony was standing over him, and Steve refused to make eye contact.

Tony continued. “I guess it works both ways.”

“Huh?”

Before Steve could even react, Tony cupped his chin and pushed his head up. One moment Steve was looking into his syrupy eyes (the closest they’ve ever been to him), and the next he felt Tony’s lips on his. 

How long it lasted Steve couldn’t say. But, the sensations were fresh on his mind. The softness of Tony’s lips. The warmth of his hand on his cheek. The tingling his other hand left behind as it moved down Steve’s back. It was all so new to Steve. He wanted to hold on. To remain there. But, Tony pulled away.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a brief moment. Then, Tony smiled. “Hope you don’t mind.” 

Steve shook his head. “N-not at all,” he managed. 

The shy smile the waiter gave the genius billionaire nearly made Tony’s heart melt. Tony examined him as if he were one of his unfinished projects. His skin was so soft. His lips so pink. His eyes so . . . inhumanely blue. Tony pressed his lips against Steve’s again. He couldn’t help himself. He was utterly infatuated with this man. He needed more.

“Hey,” he said after he ended their kiss. “Cap. How about we take this upstairs?”

“Huh?”

“You know. You and I. My bed’s pretty big.” Tony gave him a wink.

“Oh. Um.” Steve’s face turned redder than the bits of tomato he had picked out of his food.

Tony observed his befuddled expression. He was used to the bashfulness that usually overcame his encounters, but Steve was more than shy. He was--

 _Could it be?_ “Cap,” he pondered, “have you ever . . .”

Steve watched him. At the realization of what Tony was trying to ask him, his whole body heated up. He looked down at the ground and in a low voice said, “Uh. . . no . . . I haven’t.”

Silence filled the room. Nobody spoke. 

Steve was beginning to think Tony was belittling him, but, when he looked up, Tony was still there.

“Uh, sorry,” Tony said. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“If I knew that’d keep you quiet, I would’ve admitted it a long time ago.”

Tony laughed. “My, you’ve gotten quite witty.”

“Only after I met you.”

Tony smiled before clapping his hands together. “Alright, then. It’s probably past your bedtime now. Do you want me to take you home or--”

“No,” Steve said so sharply Tony took a step back in surprise. “I’m going to spend the night here, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. I’ll have Jarvis set up a room for you.”

“No,” Steve said sternly. “I want--I want to take you up on your offer.”

“My . . . offer?”

Steve looked him in his eyes. “I want to spend the night with you.”

“Listen, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with just because--” His words were halted by Steve’s lips. It was a dominating kiss, and Tony had never felt so powerless in his life. 

He liked it.

“Are you sure?” Tony asked again.

“Yes,” Steve nodded.

“You can always back out.”

“Of course.”

“You really want to--”

“Stark.” He put his hand on Tony’s mouth. “Stop talking. Lead the way.” 

Steve’s voice had taken on a tone Tony hadn’t witnessed before. It was more commanding, more . . . determined. 

“Okay,” Tony said removing the hand from his mouth. “Okay. Let’s go.”

[REDACTED SCENE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10169600)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, the REDACTED scene doesn't affect the plot at all. It's just a bonus. It's not "Game of Thrones Plot Sex" it's more of a "BOOM! SEX!" So read or don't. No worries :)


	8. Afterward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their night together, Steve falls back into his regular routine. And, Tony . . . he seems to have fallen back into something, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the plot

A nudge awoke him from his most peaceful slumber. A slumber so deep Tony had to keep probing him until he finally rolled over on his side.

“Good morning, Princess.” 

Steve’s eyes fluttered opened. “Five more minutes,” he said as he shut his eyes and rolled away from Tony.

“Sure. Okay. But, uh, what time does your class start again?”

Steve’s eyes flew open. “What time is it?!”

“Let’s just say I should’ve said ‘good afternoon’ instead of ‘good morning.’” 

“What?!” Steve instinctively raised his wrist. It was naked, like the rest of his body. “Wh-where’s my watch? And, why am I--” The memories of what transpired last night flooded back. He couldn’t bring himself to face Tony, so he draped the covers over his face.

“Seriously?!” Tony tugged at the sheets.

“No. Don’t look at me.”

Steve laid under the covers. Next to him, he heard a long sigh, and the bed rippled. He heard steps followed by a door open then close. Finally, the sound of running water. Steve, hiding his most private areas with the covers, began his search. He found his shirt on the headrest, his underwear between the mattress and the footrest, and his pants halfway across the room. He put all these items on as he looked for his shoes (one was by the closet and the other under the bed). He gave up on searching for his undershirt and socks, but his watch he had to have. 

“Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?” He moved the pillows out of his way and threw the covers to the floor. “Not here.” His hands moved across every dresser and nightstand Tony had in his spacious room. “Where . . . is . . . it?!”

“Here.”

Steve turned to the voice behind him. 

Tony was standing there, a single red towel covering his midriff. Steve could see the beads of water flowing down his body. His black hair was matted down. He appeared quite . . . innocent . . . standing there. As if he would never do any of the actions he had done to him last night.

Steve noticed something in Tony’s raised right hand. “My watch.”

“You gave it to me for safekeeping. I put it in here,” Tony knocked on one of the chest drawers, “last night before we--you know--fondued.”

“What?”

“It’s something my father used to say. By the way, why is this dinky, little watch so important to you, anyway?”

“Oh. Well, um, I guess that’s father-related, too.” Steve walked over to him closing the gap between them. When he stretched out his hand for the watch, though, Tony caught his wrist with his left hand and pulled his clothed body so that it pressed onto his naked, wet figure.

“Regrets?” 

“None,” Steve whispered.

Tony smiled before brushing his lips against Steve’s. “Good,” he said, placing the watch back on Steve’s bare wrist. “Need a ride?”

“Yes, please. I already missed my first class, but maybe I can make it in time for my second one,” Steve said tapping at his recently-returned watch. 

“Let me just get dressed. By the way,” he pointed at a corner of the room, “your socks are over there.”

“Uh, thanks.” He placed his shoes by the bed as he walked over to his crumpled up socks. “You don’t see my undershirt by any chance?”

“Nope.” It was quiet for a while before Tony added, “Oh, and thank you for coming over.”

Reflexively, Steve said, “Yeah. You, too.” The heat immediately rose to his cheeks as he heard Tony stifling his laughter.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Grabbing his backpack, which he’d luckily taken over to Tony’s place yesterday, he unbuckled himself and inched his way out of the car. With one foot on the sidewalk and the other still in the car, he turned to Tony. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” 

He stepped out of the passenger seat and was about to close the door when he remembered his left-behind possession. “Oh, my undershirt. If you find it--”

“I’ll frame it up in my living room."

Steve smiled. “Whatever. I’m gonna be late.”

“Ciao, love.” He gave the college-student two small _clicks_ and a wink then stepped on the gas pedal as soon as the door shut, leaving Steve staring at the departing vehicle with longing eyes.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The day went by rather quickly, and, soon, he was back at the diner waiting for his only lover to take his seat. He glanced down at his watch for the seventh time in three minutes.

“You alright there, kid?” 

“Yeah, Luke. I’m good.” It was half past 11 already, and Tony hadn’t shown. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I was just--”

They both glanced up when the chimes rang. 

Tony stepped in, coat over his arm. He gave Sam a pat on his shoulder and made his way to the table. “The usual,” he called out to Steve.

Steve indicated with his index finger that he had heard and chanted the order to Luke. 

“I know. I know. I’ve been doing this one nearly every day this past week,” Luke gestured. “Just go.”

Large grin on his face, Steve took the seat he always did. “Hey,” he offered.

Tony looked up at him. _His eyes_ , Steve thought. _They look . . . vacant._ But, the thought vanished as soon as Tony spoke. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Tony chuckled. But, Steve noted, it wasn’t the same amused laughter. It was much dryer, forced. “You’re not wearing your hat,” Tony pointed out.

“Uh, no. Well, I’ve been in a rush all day. I forgot it.”

“I see.”

Silence hang over them. Usually, Tony was the one that filled in these empty voids, but, as much as Steve waited, it didn't look like he was about to start up another discourse. Steve couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye. It felt . . . odd. Did this sort of thing always happen after two individuals . . . got closer? Or maybe Tony hadn't enjoyed his night with him. Was he trying to end their . . . whatever it was they had?

All these thoughts raced through Steve's mind as he wrestled with what to do. He wanted to ask Tony so many things, but, ultimately, what he really wanted to know was if he was feeling well. He figured he'd ask him straight out, but Tony would eventually end up dancing around the subject. Or lie. In the short week Steve had known him, he’d realize Tony Stark was a good liar. Plus, he had seemed, well, _Starkish_ this morning. There was no way his personality could do a complete 180 in just a few hours. _Right?!_

“How was your day?” Steve asked politely.

“Oh, you know. Same old.” His eyes darted away from Steve’s. “I just--I just had too many things to get back to. You really threw me off my schedule yesterday, Cap.”

 _He was a good liar. But not good enough._ “You said you were going to take it easier.”

“Yes. And, I--I did. But, well, I can’t just abandon everything.”

“I--”

“Coffee and pie!” Luke called out.

“I’ll be right back.” Quickly, he rose out of his chair and walked over to the rectangular pick-up window. He grabbed the items and was about to leave when a voice stopped him.

“Steve,” Luke said, “can I get your help back here? My helpers already left and--”

“Sure, Luke. Just give me a minute.”

He had taken a few steps toward Tony when he noticed his posture. His elbows were on the table, his face buried in his hands. Now that he was observing him without Tony’s prying eyes, Steve could make out the grease and oil stains on his clothes. His hands were scraped with a black tinge on his thumbs and index fingers. His knuckles bruised and red. His hair shoddy as if somebody had come up to him and ruffled it up. As he recalled, Tony had taken a shower just this morning, yet he looked as if he hadn’t been home in days! 

Pretending not to take notice, Steve placed the items softly on the table. This was just like last time. He had to say something. 

Tony placed his hands on the table and watched as Steve sat before him. “So, how was your day?”

“You already asked me that,” Steve said, not sure if he was joking.

“Oh, right, right. Sorry.”

Steve glared into his dull, brown eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Tony blinked. “I’m great,” he said a little too enthusiastically.

“Are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve wanted to say so much more, but he didn’t know how. Or what. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time when he was left in the diner with regret. He needed some time. So, he decided to make time.

“I gotta go help Luke in the kitchen. I’ll be back before you finish your pie.” Steve gently touched Tony’s hand as he stood to leave.

Tony smiled. “Sure.”

Steve smiled back, but something about Tony’s smile had caused a chill to run down his spine. He needed to think of something to say quick. 

“I’m here,” he said as he bursted through the kitchen doors.

“Thanks so much, Steve.” Luke proceeded to feed him instructions, which Steve followed with ease. 

When Luke left him alone, Steve sank into his thoughts. Tony was not okay. That was something he was fairly positive about. He wasn’t okay last time, either, was he? Him saying he had solved his problem was a lie. Steve was sure of that now. He only wished he’d caught him in his lie earlier.

But, was last night a lie, too? “No,” Steve muttered. “No. He was genuine. I could--I could _feel_ it. Then, why--” The clatter of a plate as it hit the bottom of his sink interrupted his sentence. “Sorry,” he apologized to the plate before letting his thoughts turn back to Tony.

He recalled what Tony had said to him that Friday night. He thought it over. Sure, Tony had said Steve had helped him, but, truthfully, it was Tony that had helped Steve. Before Tony, Steve was just school and work. He had no real sense of purpose. He was just trying to get through life. Now, though, he’d look forward to Tony’s daily diner visit. He’d go to bed dreaming about Tony and wake up thinking about him. And, last night . . . Last night was the best night of his life. He had done things he’d never done, experienced new sensations, and felt something he’d--

“That’s it,” Steve muttered. “I know what to say.”

He rushed out of the kitchen and headed for the table, which now stood empty except for an untouched slice of apple pie and a luke-warm cup of coffee. A crumpled bill lay in the center.

“No.” Steve looked around. “Sam, where’s Stark?”

“Hm? Oh, he left a couple minutes ago.” 

“What?” Steve ran to the large window overlooking the street. The darkness of the night obstructed his view, so he stepped outside, the chimes clanging behind him. He stood there, the night breeze causing goosebumps on his naked arms, watching. But, he had known, before he stepped out the door, that his chance had slipped by.

He trudged back inside.

 

He flung the dishware in the sink and grabbed a wet cloth before heading back to the no-longer occupied table. He wiped the table until his gloomy reflection glistened on its surface. Then, as he went to push in the chair, he noticed something rectangular on the floor. He bent down to pick it up. 

“A phone?” The brightness of the screen momentarily blinded him. It was password protected, so Steve couldn’t see who it belonged to, but--

Filled with hope, he took out his own phone and dialed the number he had recently stored. He waited a second, two . . .

The phone he had just found vibrated in his other hand. He looked at the screen and smiled at the three-letter word that appeared.

_Cap_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody that has kept up with this 'til now. It's almost at its end, and I'm still giving it my all. Thanks again


	9. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve awaits Tony's return, but is it even worth it anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Next chapter is the end to my fic and then chapter 11 will be an epilogue. :) I might end up uploading both chapters (10 and 11) on the same day. If so, I might have to take an extra day of editing. Still debating. Thanks for sticking along

Even as he took orders, Steve managed a glance at his watch. He was much more desperate for Tony tonight. More so than yesterday. 

  


“He left his phone behind. That means he’s going to come back for it, right?” he had asked.

“Yeah,” Peggy had responded. “A phone is a rich person’s life. It has all their contacts and important events. I doubt he’ll leave it behind. I bet it has a lot of celebrities’ numbers. Are you sure you can’t unlock it?” A mischievous smile spread on her face. Steve took no notice.

Peggy had somehow become Steve’s confidant. She had walked up to him thanking him for his notes, when he had bursted out the events of last week. Well, most of them.

The ice in his drink rattled. “I barely know anything about the man, so it’d be pretty difficult to figure out his passcode. Plus, he kept getting text after text, call after call, this morning so I powered it down.”

“You say you don’t know anything about him, yet you spent a whole day at his place.” She paused. Then, “And came to school wearing the same clothes as before,” she added smugly.

Steve’s face blushed. He stopped walking and turned toward her, blocking her path. “What? How?!”

“I saw you two at the cinema. So,” she looked up with eager eyes, “did you sleep with him?”

“Whoa! That’s a bit too personal for two strangers to discuss.” He turned around, walking a couple of steps ahead of her.

“So, it’s okay to have sex with a stranger but not talk about it.”

“No, I--I never said I had sex with him. Besides, he's not a stranger. He's--” _what was he_?

“So, you didn’t have sex with him?”

Steve turned the corner. “I go this way. I’ll see you next lecture.” He walked away without saying goodbye but waved halfheartedly. _She figured it out so easily_ , he had thought. 

  


“She’s probably some sort of secret agent or something,” he joked to himself in the diner as he recounted today's conversation with Peggy. "Or maybe she's one of those stalkers."

It was nearly midnight. Steve had expected Tony to arrive around the same time as yesterday, but . . .

He continued cleaning his section and attending to the couple still chattering. Once the couple left, he picked up their plates, handed them to the dishwasher, and wiped the table clean. "There," he said standing back as to admire his work. He looked out the window into the darkness. "No sign of him." With a sigh, he headed to the kitchen.

  


“Steve.”

“Huh?” He looked up from the comic book he was reading. 

“Shift’s over, Steve. Go home.”

“Oh, I can stay a few more--”

Sam glared at him. “Go.”

Steve, begrudgingly, slid off his seat. He reached into his pocket. “Hey, Sam, if, um, if Mr. Stark shows up tell him he left his phone here.” Steve placed the rectangular object in Sam’s hand. 

“Will do,” Sam said placing the object in a container by the cash register. “Now, go get some rest. Midterms are coming up.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

The chimes clattered as he stepped into the cool darkness. He looked around. Still no sign of him; however, a loud zooming sound was quickly approaching. He watched until the bright headlights momentarily blinded him.

"Hey, Steve!"

A car had stopped in front of him. Examining the exterior, he wasn't surprised to see the face that appeared when the passenger-side window rolled down.

"What is it, Quill?" Steve leaned into the black Pontiac Firebird, a car Quill had inherited from his father, in order to see his co-waiter in the driver's seat.

"Need a ride?"

Steve stood straight and placed his hand on the roof of the car. He looked around. Nothing. He tapped the roof two times and then opened the passenger door. "Sure."

"Awesome. Let's rev it up!"

Steve fastened his seatbelt. "Please, just get me home alive."

Quill let out a loud laugh before belting away from the dining institution.

With this speed, Steve got home in record time. He mumbled a "thanks" to Quill and stumbled all the way to his room. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, before even putting on his apron, the first thing he did when he walked into the diner was walk over to the cash register and check the container. 

The phone was still there.

“He hasn’t shown up,” Sam stated as soon as he saw Steve. “Sorry,” he shrugged.

“No. It’s cool. I just hope he didn’t need it.”

"I'm sure he's fine. A man rich as him probably has a backup phone . . . and a backup for that . . . and a backup for that one . . ." Sam's voice began to fade out as he walked away. 

Steve spent the evening in anticipation. But, the chimes never rang for him.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On Friday, he was expecting Tony to dine at their fine establishment. It was the start of the weekend, and, for a partyboy such as Mr. Stark, he’d be out and about. _Maybe he’d pay me a visit_ , Steve thought.

But, he never did.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Saturday, Sunday, and Monday Steve didn’t work. He had taken the weekend off to prepare for his midterms (Sam had practically urged him on). His first midterm was on Tuesday. It was math. He couldn’t help but think of Tony as he studied. A lot of the material came easily to him now. “It’s all thanks to him,” he said sadly. He closed the textbook and plopped on the couch.

Next to him, the phone vibrated. He had brought it home with him in case Tony called it. But, each time it buzzed, it was a text message asking Tony to call back. This time was no different.

He clutched the smooth object in his hands and sighed. “Maybe I should go check on him . . . at his house . . .” He shook the idea away. “No. I barely know him. Yet . . .” He closed his textbook and grabbed his running shoes.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"How'd your math go?" Peggy had caught him as he was leaving the library. 

"Better than I expected, to tell you the truth."

"That's great," she beamed at him.

"I suppose." He looked down.

Peggy, noticing his demeanor, dove into the problem. "He still hasn't picked up his phone?"

"No, I, uh, I turned it in."

"Great! How was he?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I--I didn't see him. His butler--Jarvis or whatever--said he was occupied and didn't want to be disturbed. He took the phone and shut the door before I could say anything."

"What?!" she stopped walking.

Steve said nothing but continued walking, head still down. 

"Steve." 

He continued on.

"Steve!"

He stopped, his back still to her.

Peggy took a step toward him. "You should go--"

"Why?!" He took a couple of strides toward her, closing the space between them, and was now glaring into her eyes. "So, he can tell me he doesn't want to see me again? So, he can say how I was just another one of his conquests? A--a one night stand?! He's just another rich, white boy. He doesn't care, so why should I?" His voice was louder than he intended and a couple of people had thrown glances their way, but he didn't care.

Peggy's eyes darted down. Her fists clenched. She returned the glare. "Because," she said calmly, "nobody has seen him in a week now. He just . . . disappeared."

Steve took a step back. "What?" He had expected her to remark at his “one night stand” slip. After all, she had been wanting to know if they'd--what had Tony said-- _fondued_.

"He hasn't shown up in interviews," she said, eyes down. "I heard on the news that-that he didn't even show up to his quarterly stock meeting. And, it's not like-like he's canceling appointments, either. He's just not showing up."

Steve remained silent.

"You think he'd just drop off the face of the Earth like that if something wasn't wrong?" Peggy looked back at him. She took hold of his wrist. "You say you don't know him, Steve, but I know you sensed something wrong the moment he didn't show at your diner. I've never met the guy, and even I can tell that something's definitely wrong. You--you, who talks about him like you’ve known him for years--should definitely know that he’s not fine."

Steve processed her words. His failure to show up to meetings. His phone's constant buzzing. The way he looked that night . . . the night before he disappeared. He looked away from her. Now that he thought about it, most of those texts Tony’s phone had received were asking for him. And, most were from the same numbers. Considering Tony was high-tech, if they wanted to get in contact with Tony, it wouldn’t be difficult. Unless--He shook her hold on him off.

"Steve? Steve?!" 

Ignoring her calls, he quickly jogged to his home, away from her. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Peggy had said. He was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, hands resting behind his head. She was right. He knew that. But, what if she wasn’t? 

"I can't take this anymore!" He flung himself out of the bed, grabbed the nearest pair of sneakers (which happened to be his running ones), and raced out the room. 

As he was heading out, he spotted his blue cap on the couch. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and placed it on his head. "Tony . . . wait for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's the end! Holy Hell I can't believe we got this far


	10. Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve rushes off to Stark Manor, but what will come of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter of my fic! I worked hard on this so please enjoy

Breathless, Steve had ran the path leading to the doorstep (the Stark residence had a large yard, and Steve had never hated it more than he did at that moment), he pounded at the door. “Tony!” he yelled out. 

He waited a second. No answer. He pounded on the door again. “Tony!” he called out again. Still no answer.

He repeated the process until the knob turned and a suit-clad butler answered the door.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Stark is extremely busy and he has ordered--”

“I don’t care! I don’t care, Jarvis. I must see him.”

His blue eyes seemed to shine at the butler. They remained trained, unblinking, on him. Even if he said no, Jarvis knew this young man would find a way in. He would search for one. Stay out here until somebody tried to whisk him away. Perhaps call for reinforcements. Jarvis could sense that the man before him wouldn’t let anything stop him from seeing Tony Stark.

“Please,” Steve pleaded. To the surprise of Jarvis, his eyes softened. “I just can’t live with myself if something were to--” He choked back his words.

Jarvis stepped aside, hand still on the silver doorknob. 

Steve stepped past him, carefully treading inside. He half-expected a blow to his head to occur rendering him unconscious. Instead, he heard a soft mutter.

“What?” he asked, turning around.

“Twelve-sixteen,” Jarvis repeated. 

Offguard, Steve turned his head to make sure the comment was meant for him. There was nobody else around, which was unusual for a household that employed many butlers and waiters and maids.

Jarvis caught Steve stunningly looking around and offered him a small, sorrowful, smile. “Save him,” he whispered.

With that, Steve ran down to the lab. _If he’s anywhere, he’s there_. He’d only been inside the infamous Stark Manor once, but the outline of the mansion had been etched onto his mind. He knew Tony’s room was upstairs behind the door furthest down the hall next to one of the six guest rooms. He knew Jarvis’ room was behind the door he had just passed and the library was four doors down in his direction. He knew there was a gym somewhere further down, but Tony hadn’t had time to take him. _Next time_ , he had said. Next time. But, would there be a next time?

_Tony . . ._

He took a sharp right.

_Tony._

He took the stairs down two at a time.

“TONY!” 

He grabbed the handle and turned. Nothing.

He turned it again. Rustled it. Pulled it. 

Nothing. 

Frustrated, he let out a scream and slapped the metal door. “Dammit!” he cursed under his breath. He took a step back, hands on his hips, as he tried to figure out what to do. Hesitantly, he decided upon the more obvious method.

He knocked. 

Again.

Again.

And, again.

No answer. 

“Tony!” He punched and kicked at the door. “Tony! I know you’re in there. Open up. Please!” He continued beating at the door until his knuckles grew sore. Until his skin threatened to bleed. Until a jolt of pain shot through his arm whenever his fists hit the steel. Then, he continued rapping at the metallic surface some more. “Tony . . please.” 

After another bout of silence, he placed his ear against the hard door hoping for any sound that would indicate somebody was there. 

Nothing.

His cheek slid down the cold surface as he sank into the ground. His fists clenched--he winced at the pain--as he felt the stinging of tears beginning to form. He blinked them away and got to his feet. He looked at the wide, metallic door as if they were having a staring contest. His physical abuse had left no marks upon it. There was no way he could force it open. 

His eyes darted about the width and length of the door until they came upon a keypad a few inches above the door handle. Steve examined it closely. There was no indication as to how many digits were needed to unlock it. He could be here until his death came and never figure it out. 

But, what was it that Jarvis had said?

“Twelve . . . 1, 2 . . . Sixteen . . . 1, 6 . . .” He punched in the numbers slowly and carefully as if clicking on the wrong one would trigger the end of the world. After he pressed the last digit, he waited, but nothing happened. “Oh, come on!” His fists clenched as he resisted the urge to give the door another beating when he noticed another button next to the zero. He clicked the capitalized _ENTER_.

A dull thud was heard from the inner mechanisms. Shaking, he reached for the handle and turned it. 

_CLINK_

“Tony?” Steve whispered as he stepped inside. A cold draft kissed his skin causing goosebumps to erupt on his bare arms.

Steve had only been in the lab that one time, but it already appeared so unfamiliar. There were mechanical parts strewn about the floor. Papers covered the desks, some soaked with a dark liquid some crumpled up. There was a mess of tools and broken glass on the table nearest him. On the floor, Steve stepped over a green, gooey substance. He had to tread carefully.

“Tony--” Steve stepped on something hard but ignored the dull pain in his sole. As he walked further into the lab, he heard breathing. He followed the sound basing his judgement by how loud the breathing grew. 

Finally, when the breathing was loudest, he saw a clump of clothing on the floor. It moved. Even with the lab brightly lit he found it difficult to make out the shape of the mass lying on the floor. 

“Tony?” He pushed away some broken test tubes in his line of sight and saw his crumpled mess on the table below. “Tony!” 

Making his way around, he placed him in his arms. “Tony, you’re still--” He stopped himself. 

The man before him was not the same Tony Stark he had met just two weeks ago. He was thinner. Pale. His hair was greasy. His clothes looked baggy on him, as if he had bought them two sizes too big. But, worst of all, the sparkle was gone; his eyes were empty.

Steve hugged him closer to him, carefully as though one wrong move would break every bone in his tired body, and placed Tony’s head on his chest. Tears were already streaming down Steve’s rose cheeks. He kissed Tony’s sunken cheeks and caressed his shoulder.

After what felt like hours of silence, Steve heard a murmur.

“What was that?”

“I used you, Steve.” Tony pushed him away. Grabbing ahold of the table, he stood up. His knees were shaky, and Steve was worried he’d topple over, so he stood up next to him placing his hand on Tony’s frail arm. Tony leaned against the table. “I used you,” he repeated. He laughed. The sound made Steve’s skin crawl. “Oh, shit, I’m a freaking idiot.”

“Tony . . .”

“I thought this’d be fun, you know. And, I suppose, it was.” 

Steve muttered, “What do you mean?”

“I was tired, Steve! Tired of this freaking life. I wanted to--to--do something. When I saw you in the diner, I thought I’d--I wanted to . . . fool around with you.”

Tony looked at Steve who remained silent. He wanted him to say something, to reprimand him, yell at him, something! But, his look was unwavering. 

“I just,” he continued, “wanted to taste a bit of happiness before I . . . left.” He looked down at the table. His fists were clutching the edge, his knuckles white as snow.

Steve’s mouth opened as he was about to utter one word, but he clamped it shut when he realized what the answer to his “where?” would bring.

The silence lingered. Yet, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was . . . serene. 

Steve looked at him. He looked so . . . dead. No. He wasn’t dead. He was still alive. He still had a chance. They weren’t at the diner. There was nobody else to attend to. No other chores to do. No distractions. It was just him and Tony. 

“No regrets,” he said under his breath.

At the sound of his inaudible words, Tony looked up. 

“Tony,” Steve started, “back then at the diner, I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what. I went to the kitchen, well, to help Luke, yes, but also to clear my head and find the perfect words to say to you. It took me a while, and, when I thought I had them, I walked out, and you weren’t there. I was worried.”

Tony’s eyes widened. 

“I was worried because from the first night you walked into the diner, into my life, you--you seemed--” He paused as he tried to find the right word. “Troubled. As if a dark cloud were hanging over your head. But, when I saw you smile, the cloud seemed to vanish. And, the more I saw you, the less of the cloud I noticed. However,” he looked away from Tony, “just because I don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. Truth was, the cloud hadn’t disappeared; it had floated up a little higher. If I had taken a closer look, I would’ve seen it sooner. Then--then,” his fists clenched, and he could feel the tears comes out. “Then, it wouldn’t have been too late!” He hid his face behind his hands, but his shoulders betrayed him. They shook as he silently sobbed, his palms drenched with his salty tears. He had to be strong for Tony, so why was he crying? He shouldn’t be! He had messed up. He had--

“Steve.”

The sound of his name was so soft, like a mother trying to put her child to sleep. 

“Steve.” 

There it came again.

He removed his hands.

Tony was smiling at him. His eyes glistened with tears. “It’s not too late. I’m--I’m still here.”

His words made his tears flow faster. “Tony,” he cried. “I-I thought I had come up with the right words that night. But--but I think they just came to me. Tony Stark . . .” he took in a deep breath. He had managed to get his sobbing under control although a few tears were still streaming out, “you have been the greatest thing to enter my life. And--and, I want you to continue being in it! My whole life, it--it was as though it were spent waiting for you. Everything has lead to that moment, the moment where you walked into the diner . . . and into my life.” Hands shaking, Steve’s eyes darted away from Tony. What had he just said?! He had gotten caught up in the scenario, and the words bursted out of his mouth.

He didn’t look at Tony. He didn’t dare. He waited. Then, he heard a noise. It was airy and wheezy. It took him a few seconds to realize it was the sound of Tony Stark laughing.

During his laughter, Tony was overcome with a coughing fit. His mouth was dry. When was the last time he drank water? His throat hurt, but Steve--oh, Steve.

“Was that a proposal?”

Steve’s face flushed. “What? No! I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t propose to you--wait--I mean, it’s not--I just wanted you to know that . . . I . . . need you.” 

Steve had whispered the last two words, but Tony heard. He fought back the tears threatening to escape and reverted to his witty, playful banter. “Of course you do. You’d be a mess without me.”

Steve chuckled. Man, it felt good to laugh! “Yeah. I would. So,” he waited for Tony to catch his eye before saying, “what do you say? Give me a chance?”

Tony looked at him. His blue eyes were red and his cheeks tear-stricken. He had cried for him. He had--He had come to save him. “Sure. I’ll give this another try. Don’t mess up.”

“I have no intention of doing so.” Steve reached for Tony and kissed his dry lips. 

The embrace lasted a minute, but that minute changed both men.

Tony still looked as if he’d gotten in a brawl with Death itself, but his aura had returned. Not only that, but the sparkle appeared in his syrupy brown eyes. 

And, Steve, he felt a welling deep within so hot he felt as though it would erupt from inside him. It wasn’t the same aroused feeling he’d gotten that one night. No. It was somehow more than that. He wanted nothing more than to keep holding on to Tony, never letting go.

Tony snickered. “You’re wearing the cap, Cap.” He ficked the bill of the blue hat.

“You just had to ruin the moment.” He took it off and placed it on Tony’s head. “Your hair looks awful.”

“Well, depression ain’t pretty.”

Steve laughed. “No, but it doesn’t have to be ugly. Come on.” He offered his hand to the frail man who wrapped his feeble arm around his strong one. Arm in arm, he lead Tony out of the lab, up the stairs, to his room, and into the shower.

  


“Do you need help?” Steve offered.

“I can manage.”

Steve stood next to him, unwilling to leave. 

“I’ll be fine. If I need you I’ll scream or something,” Tony reassured him.

Steve trudged out the bathroom glancing back one more time before closing the door.

The cool water felt nice on Tony’s skin. He could feel some weight being lifted off his shoulders. He laid in the tub letting the drops hit every inch of his body as though it were massaging him. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but by the knock on the door and Steve’s voice, he figured it’d been more than enough.

“I’m fine, Cap. I was just finishing up.” He stood up in the porcelain tub and reached for his red towel. Draping it across his midregion, he made his way out.

Steve was standing right outside the door making Tony wonder if he’d been there the entire duration of his shower. “You’re a bit overprotective, aren’t you?”

Steve smiled in response. 

Tony walked past him to his king-sized bed. There was a glass of water waiting for him ontop the nightstand. He sat on the edge, wincing with each bending joint. He hadn't felt this sore since his first work-out back when he was a teenager. He had been trying to impress a girl. It had worked. “My body aches, and I can barely move. You mind helping me get dressed?” he said to Steve after taking a huge gulp of the clear, refreshing liquid. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

Without a second thought, Steve began searching for something snug. He dug through the drawers and swung the closet doors open rummaging through the many fabrics within.

After he helped him get dressed, some black sweats and a comfortable white tee, he removed the covers and helped Tony into bed. “You know, I should come up with a nickname for you, too,” he said.

Tony chuckled. “Don’t force yourself, sweetheart.”

“I want something cool to put into my phone, too. You have me as ‘Cap.’ I just have you under ‘Tony.’” 

Tony sat up. “Okay. What you got?”

Steve took out his phone and stared at Tony’s contact information. He glared at the bright screen until the words began to blur. 

“You don’t need to get an aneurism over it.”

Steve smiled as his fingers began to move swiftly against the glass surface. Neither said anything until the clicking noises died out.

Eyebrow raised, Tony stared at the words trying to make sense of it. “Is this because I had metals strewn around my lab, because I do more than just weld, you know?”

With a slight shake of his head, Steve explained. “It’s part of it, but . . . You were strong. You’ve been going through Hell for who knows how long, and you’re still here. You’re still cracking jokes, teasing me . . . your sexual aura is as strong as ever . . .”

Tony grinned.

“You were--are--not easily destroyed.”

Tony looked up at Steve, then back to the phone. “Yeah, well, iron melts at 1,538°C, so it’s not truly indestructible. Plus, with enough force--”

“I didn’t come for a science lecture. Maybe I should change your name to ‘Annoying Know-It-All.” 

Tony grasped Steve’s wrist before he could tap on anything on the bright screen. “No. I like it. _Iron Man_. It has a sort of ring to it, no?”

“Sure.” He put his phone away and examined Tony’s thin structure. “You hungry?”

Tony nodded. “I’m just . . . tired.”

Steve prodded. “When was the last time you ate?”

Tony didn’t answer. 

With a sigh of defeat, Steve consented, “Fine. But, you’re letting me take you out tomorrow for a breakfast date.”

Tony buried a smile into his pillow. “Okay,” came the muffled voice, “but you have to spend the night with me.”

Steve didn’t think about it. He lifted the covers and got in next to him. “I wasn’t planning on leaving you. Scoot over.”

“Are you seriously sleeping in those jeans?”

“I was planning on taking them off but now I won’t.”

“You’re such a child.”

“Really? I’m the child? You locked yourself in a room for a week.”

“I came out! Occasionally, but still.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his chest. “I’m so glad you let me into your life.”

“I’m glad you accepted my offer.” Tony brushed Steve’s blonde hair, taking in his strawberry-like scent. “Also, you’re welcome.”

Steve playfully nudged him in the shoulder. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“Can’t argue with that. By the way, how’d your math midterm go?”

“Results won’t be up ‘til the end of the week, but I got through most of the problems with ease.”

“Again, you’re welcome.”

Steve rolled over to his other side, turning his back to him. “I hate you.”

“Is that why you came here today?” Tony teased.

“Shut up.” Then, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m drowning in a sea of stress and sadness. But,” he took hold of Steve’s hand, “maybe you can keep me afloat.” 

Steve placed his head on Tony’s chest and snuggled up to him. 

After a while, he felt the rhythmic movement of Tony’s chest heaving up and down, and his breathing had become heavier. Steve, too, was beginning to drift off, and, as his eyes began to shut, he had one final thought before sleep overtook him.

 

He was utterly in love with this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, that's the end to my fic. :) Thank you all so much. Consider the epilogue a gift for seeing it through the end. It should be up now


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7 years later . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one!

Dressed in a red tee and blue jeans, the small, brown-haired toddler threw the silverware to the floor as he crawled about the table. He turned his attention to the napkin dispenser. He pulled out one napkin. Then another. Another. Another, flinging them to the floor below him. He kept going until a firm, broad hand was placed over his tiny fist.

“Peter!” Steve let out a sigh. “Tony, you were supposed to be watching him.”

“Hm? Oh, hold on,” Tony raised his index finger. “I’m on a business call,” he said to Steve, then back into the phone, “Yes, Director, you were saying?”

Steve groaned and picked up little Peter. 

They were in Lee’s Diner sitting at the table. Only this time, Steve was here as a customer, with Tony. And, their son. 

“Peter,” he bounced him up and down, “try to behave a little, okay? You’re like a skittering spider.”

The small child giggled at this. “Spiduh! Spiduh!”

Chuckling at his son’s energy, Steve brought his lips to the small, smooth forehead. He smelled so good, he couldn’t help but bury his nose in Peter’s soft, brown locks. 

The chimes rang through the diner, and both looked up to see an elder man step through. Peter offered him a six-toothed grin. The old man returned it. 

Steve watched the old man swagger on past them.. He looked familiar. He’d seen him somewhere before. He kept staring for a time period that would be considered rude if the gentleman had taken notice. He kept watching as the man took a seat. Then, he noticed it. 

_It’s that old man, from the first night_ , Steve pondered. 

Sure enough, the man stuck out his bedazzled cane. The one with the large, sparkling “S.”

Tony stood up from his seat. “Stan!” He stuffed his phone in his coat pocket (the conversation done) and approached the other man. 

The old man turned and smiled. He walked toward him. Tony placed his hand on his shoulder and walked him to where Steve, Peter squirming on his lap, was seated.

 _The cane's more of a decoration than a utility_ , Steve noted. _He walks just fine without it_. Rising from his seat, Steve turned to Tony. “You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s the one that recommended this diner to me in the first place,” Tony said as he took the old man’s hand. “How you’ve been, old man?”

“What?” Steve said, more to himself than anyone else.

“I’ve been great, Stark. Just great,” he said in a raspy voice.

Tony pulled Steve toward him, his arm around his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I feel like I owe my whole existence to you.” He said turning to the older gentleman. “Stan, this is my husband, C--Steve. Steve, Stan. I’ve known him all my life. He’s an old friend of mine. ”

“Old? I’ll let you know that I can still kick your ass--”

“I meant ‘old’ as in longtime not--nevermind.”

Steve took Stan’s hands in his. He was surprisingly firm. Steve had expected his handshake to be frail but there was power behind it.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said.

“You haven’t changed much,” Stan said.

“Excuse me?”

“You were one of my workers, weren’t you?”

“Sorry?” 

Peter was beginning to fidget in his arms, so Tony took ahold of him.

“You used to work here, no?”

“Um, yeah. I was a waiter here for a couple of years, but what does that--”

Stan smiled as he saw the realization dawn on Steve’s face.

“You’re _the_ Lee?”

He chuckled. “Right you are, son. I’m Stan Lee. Founder of this here joint. I enjoy coming down every time I’m around and seeing how it’s holding up.”

“Ah, of course,” Steve heard Tony mumbled. “I should’ve put it together.”

“You’re not the owner?” Steve asked, ignoring Tony.

“Not anymore. I’m retired. But, it’s in good hands, it seems.” He looked around with bright eyes, like a child in a candy shop. “She’s in good hands.” He trailed off.

Steve didn’t know what else to say, but, luckily, Tony did. He always did. 

“Would you like to join us? My treat.”

“Oh, no,” Stan said, waving them off, “I couldn’t.”

“You can, and you will. Without you, I wouldn’t have this.” He gestured to Steve and turned to Peter. “I probably wouldn’t even--” He stopped. “Who knows what I would have done if you hadn’t sent me here.”

Stan nodded at him. “Oh, it’s not like I did anything extraordinary.”

Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, “You know, sometimes I do feel that you hold my life in your hands. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Strange is the name of my doctor. Fine,” he said clasping his hands together. “I’ll join you. I couldn’t say no to such a cute boy.” He patted Pater’s chestnut hair as he joyfully giggled.

Tony called the waiter over, a man probably only a few years younger than Steve. His dark brown hair complimented his clear, blue eyes. 

“Ready to order?” he said in a voice with a tinge of an accent. 

“Yeah. This little guy will have some chicken nuggets and--Peter!” 

The squirming child had pulled off the sunglasses from Tony’s face and was now wrestling them away from his father. 

Smiling, Steve turned to the waiter, “I’ll finish it off.” He gave the order as the waiter wrote it down on his white notepad. 

“That’ll be all. Thanks,” Steve said as he was done. “Umm . . .” He looked toward the waiter’s chest trying to make out the letters on the nametag. “James?”

“Call me Bucky. I much prefer that.” He set off to deliver his order leaving the three men and the small child to their own devices.

“Peter! Stop.” Tony grasped both of Peter’s small hands in his.

“No,” the toddler uttered breaking free from Tony’s hold. 

“Cap! Do something.”

Steve ignored him. “So, Stan, you said you were retired?”

“Ah, yes. I live in--”

“Steve!” 

Steve looked over to see Peter donning an oversized blue hat. “Where’d you--”

“I found it in the backseat of my car earlier. Thought he’d like it.”

Peter gripped the bill in his tiny hands and pulled it over his face, like a mask. Underneath it, giggles erupted from the small child.

“It looks cute,” Steve said patting the boy’s capped head.

“I don’t know,” Stan interjected. “I think red is more of his color.”

Tony covered the boy’s ears, or where his ears should be underneath the cap. “Don’t listen to him, honey. You can wear any color you want. Wear red and blue if you have to.”

The boy laughed, pulled off the hat, and said, “Two. Two.”

He ruffled his son’s hair. “That’s right, son. Now, Stan, remember the project we worked on--”

The rest of the conversation went on without Steve. His focus was on the two beings before him. He watched as Peter bounced up and down on Tony’s leg, the hat still in his tiny grip. He observed as Tony kept his arm around his son, protecting him. Protecting his son. Their son. They had a son. A smile, one that was not lost on Tony, appeared on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Tony asked.

They all turned to Steve.

He shook his head. “No. Nothing. I’m just . . . happy.” His smile grew wider, and Tony couldn’t help and smile back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OVER!!!! Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks again!


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